


Blank Spaces

by angstdroid



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: ...i'm determined to make that a tag, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Robophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overthinking, Spoilers, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-08-09 11:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16448855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstdroid/pseuds/angstdroid
Summary: Saihara Shuichi has gone to great lengths to repair Kiibo after escaping Danganropa, but when Kiibo does wake up, Shuichi finds that some parts can't be replaced so easily.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is connected with [this art](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/post/178566743673/re-watching-the-final-execution-i-dont-think)!
> 
> This first chapter is very short and is from Harukawa's POV, but following chapters will be longer and from either Kiibo's or Saihara's POV. Think of this chapter as scene setting!

It’s past two in the morning and freezing when Maki reaches Shuichi’s house, but she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even consider the possibility of him being asleep. She only knocks twice before fishing her keyring out of her jeans and slotting her copy of the key into the lock.

‘Just a second!’ Shuichi calls, but Maki is already unlocking the door and closing it behind her. The hallway hasn’t changed since her last visit, as far as she can tell. The only light in the building comes from the room on her left, casting a bright shadow in the shape of the doorway across the floorboards at her feet. On the other side of the wall, she hears the frantic rustle and flap of fabric.

She rounds the corner and catches a glimpse of the sheet falling into place over the tall-backed armchair. The shape it hides is vaguely recognisable as humanoid, if you look carefully. Shuichi stands in front of it, shoulders tensed and pose vaguely defensive. _You’re wide open,_ she thinks, eyes flicking over his most vulnerable points before she can stop herself. She’s already considered four possible ways to debilitate him in one move by the end of the second it takes him to recognise her.

‘Maki,’ he says, relaxing visibly. His relief makes her name a sigh. He rubs his eyes, only succeeding in making himself look even more drained. ‘I thought you were… Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ she says.

‘Do you need to stay the night, or…?’

‘I already have a room waiting at a motel for tonight. Just wanted to check on you.’ She eyes the shape under the cloth uneasily.

Shuichi smiles, eyes trained on the carpet. ‘Thank you. I’m fine, though, so…’ he trails off. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘I’m okay. Are you still working on… uh…?’ _Him? It?_

In lieu of an answer, Shuichi gently tugs the sheet away and lets it fold to the ground.

Maki has to force herself not to look away. Even if death - if it can even be called that - hasn’t had the same sickening effect, hasn’t poisoned the colour of its skin or rotted its flesh, even if Shuichi has paid painstaking attention to detail in putting it together as it once was, Kiibo’s body is an empty vessel. The doll-like stillness and the blank eyes disturb her more than the cracks and spaces, more than the open chest. Her memories of the unnatural tranquillity of the dead, both genuine and fictitious, remain vivid even now.

It’s as though Shuichi looks right through it all. He threads his fingertips through Kiibo’s hair, attention instantly redirected. Without the armour, in normal clothes, Kiibo’s body looks smaller and somehow even more noticeably unusual than before. The feeble lamp light casts strange shadows from the inhuman joints of the wrists and fingers and draws attention to the metal and wire beneath the cracks.

‘I’m sure I’ve got everything as it should be, but still no luck,’ Shuichi says, just as Maki is starting to wonder whether he’s forgotten she’s there. ‘I’m going over everything again, ordering parts online, replacing anything that seems like it could be holding him back, but so far there hasn’t been any change.’

Maki looks away just so she doesn’t have to see his expression. She examines the packages and empty containers on the ground around the chair, the emptiness of the other half of the room, the near-bare kitchen through the door. ‘You’re welcome to move into our place if you’d like, Shuichi,’ she says.

Shuichi looks up at her in surprise. ‘We’re fine here,’ he says, with some confusion, and Maki very nearly winces at the “we”.

‘I think it would be good for all of us to stick together,’ she says. ‘Himiko would like that too.’

Shuichi pulls his own chair over with one leg and sits down. He watches his thumb trace circles into the palm of Kiibo’s limp hand. ‘I’ll… think about it,’ he says hesitantly. ‘Maybe when Kiibo wakes up…’

A “no”, then. Maki sort of wishes she hadn’t come. ‘Whatever,’ she says. ‘Come over any time.’

‘Sure.’ He looks up at her. It clearly takes some effort to tear his eyes away from Kiibo. ‘I know you think I’m an idiot, but…’

‘I get it. I can’t say I’d do the same, but I do get it.’ _I just don’t like it,_ she doesn’t add. ‘I’ll check in again on my way back. Good luck with… this.’

‘Thank you,’ he says. His smile is authentic, but doesn’t match his tired eyes.

‘And get some sleep,’ she adds, already halfway out the door.

Maki lingers for a moment, shivering on the front porch. After a few seconds, she hears Shuichi’s voice pick up again, talking to it, soft and gentle. She sighs, breath clouding on the air. The sky is pitch black.

‘Wake up soon,’ she says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiibo wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiibo: *Windows startup sound*

**SYSTEMS ONLINE.**

**INITIALISING STARTUP.**

**THE SYSTEM WAS FORCED TO SHUT DOWN AT THE END OF YOUR PREVIOUS SESSION. PERFORMING SELF-DIAGNOSTICS.**

**WARNING: MAJOR HARDWARE DAMAGE DETECTED.**

**WARNING: MINOR HARDWARE DAMAGE DETECTED.**

**WARNING: FOREIGN OBJECT DETECTED.**

**REACTIVATING SENSORY INPUT IS NOT RECOMMENDED. DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?**

**REACTIVATING SENSORY INPUT.**

 

Half-formed syllables leave his throat in monotone, his system struggling to interpret panic into intelligible words. His body seizes, sensors diligently providing him with an all too realistic imitation of pain, reminding him, ever helpful, that _something is wrong_ , _something is wrong_ , as if he could forget.

If he could move, could speak, could see, he would be able to disable pain entirely. Yet as things stand nothing will respond, and the only way he knows he has a body at all is the tensing and the twitching, the scratch of rough fabric on one side of his palm, and pressure, almost crushing, around his fingers on one hand.

‘Oh,’ he hears, as though through a tunnel. ‘Sorry, just give me a second…’

Even without vision, he’s able to recognise the click of a panel inside his forearm opening. Kiibo tries to pull away by reflex, only sending more pain streaking up his arm. He grits his teeth, stifling a sob.

‘It’s okay,’ the voice soothes, far too calm. ‘I’ve got this.’

The pain vanishes with a beep, and when Kiibo’s levels have stabilised he feels a gentle pressure in his chest, a familiar brush of human hands and tools against metal. Hands belonging to the voice, he assumes.

‘Sorry about that,’ it mumbles. ‘Not sure what caused it. What was I saying?’ There’s a long pause. Kiibo blinks experimentally and watches the pixels shift and fade into an almost understandable image, but in one eye only. ‘Oh, right. So, _I_ think that maybe it was because the vase they used for the shot was the real thing - you know, as opposed to sugar glass - so they only had one chance to get it right, and when the actress dropped it in the wrong direction, they just had to keep it like that.’ Kiibo’s working eye whirs, shifting into focus. ‘Because in the novel, it sort of spins towards her as she drops it. That’s why she gets drenched. In the television adaptation, she drops it straight down, and we’re expected to believe that she still gets water all over her clothes? I mean, obviously the water was really from drowning Joyce, but -’

‘What?’

The pliers slip from Shuichi’s fingers into Kiibo’s lap. He pulls back quickly, knocking an empty coffee mug off the portable desk that separates them. His wide eyes are made brighter by the deep shadows below them. He stares at Kiibo like he’s seen a ghost.

‘Ki… Kiibo,’ he says slowly, blankly, then jumps up as though he’s been shocked, sending his chair rolling away behind him. A box of tools on the attached desk slides off and clatters to the ground, but Shuichi doesn’t even blink. He pulls the table back with one hand and leans across the table, too close. ‘Kiibo, can you hear me? Can you see me?’

‘Well, yes, but -’

Shuichi makes a strange laughing, coughing sound. ‘Kiibo, can you - do you - could you tell me my name, please?’

‘Sa-Saihara Shuichi,’ he says, suddenly uncertain.

Shuichi beams, tears brimming in his eyes. ‘Thank goodness,’ he says. He wipes his eyes with the back of one hand, breathes deep and lets it out slowly. He laughs breathily. ‘I have so many things I’ve been waiting to say to you, but… now that I can, I can’t think of any of them.’

‘Shuichi, what…?’ Kiibo looks around the room - moving his neck feels strange, foreign - and sees no cracked walls, no crawling ivy, no cobwebs or dark corners. Only a plain room with white walls, empty on one side, littered with papers and empty containers. ‘We… got out?’

‘Yeah,’ Shuichi says brightly. He tucks Kiibo’s hair back slowly, gently, and lets his hand linger at the back of his neck, unerringly close to the emergency stop. ‘All thanks to you, Kiibo.’

Kiibo can only blink at him, still disoriented. Shuichi’s hand trails past Kiibo’s shoulder, down his arm, and settles on the back of his hand. Looking down, Kiibo notices for the first time that his other hand is already in his grip, but the relevance of this information drops immediately when he sees his body. All of his plating is gone, leaving only the cream white material and blatantly inhuman doll joints of his exposed body. He’s clothed, at least, but in real, human clothes that serve no purpose other than to conceal, and even then, the shirt has been left unbuttoned to expose the open chasm of his torso, cluttered with wires. This is concerning enough in itself, but more alarming still is the damage. What he can see of his body is rife with holes and cracks, varying from hair-thin lines to spaces he could fit his fingers into, covered precisely with thin blue strips of electrical tape.

He makes a panicked sound, breathes in too fast with air he doesn’t need, and tries to pull away but can’t, can’t move his limbs at all. This makes things suddenly that much worse. He can _see_ his internals sparking as he struggles to move, to do anything, tiny fans spinning so desperately that the breeze catches Shuichi’s hair.

‘Woah, Kiibo, it’s okay,’ he says quickly. ‘You’re okay, everything’s fine, just relax and I can get you moving again.’

_You can?_ He thinks, but he doesn’t voice his apprehension. Shuichi’s hand snakes up into his chest, uncomfortable, unfamiliar, but he moves with the certainty and purpose of a man who knows what he’s doing.

‘Shuichi,’ he says shakily, trying to distract himself from the intrusion, ‘why am I…?’

‘I put you back together,’ he says. ‘It wasn’t easy, either. You’re very… detailed.’

It doesn’t add up. ‘ _You_ did?’

Shuichi laughs, and Kiibo feels sensation kicking back in through his limbs, sending pins and needles up his arms. ‘Try now,’ Shuichi says. He picks up the front plate of Kiibo’s torso and looks it over before clicking back into place, closing the gap. It takes a few seconds for Kiibo to get his fingers to move. There’s no sound, but he feels the whir of the joints more acutely than usual. Something is different, but he couldn’t name or describe it if he tried. Shuichi is still holding his other hand, too tight. He doesn’t let go even when Kiibo twitches his fingers experimentally.

‘Any pain?’ Shuichi asks.

‘You… turned it off already, so… Shuichi, where…?’

‘My house,’ he says. ‘It’s safe. You’re safe here. Do you feel okay? Want to try standing up?’

Kiibo tries to shake his head, but finds himself nodding. He doesn’t try to correct himself, looking blankly at what he can see of the ground -  worn carpet, parcels, an unopened letter, empty plastic bottles and containers with unerringly familiar images on the wrappers. A mundane enough scene, perhaps, but with his head spinning it’s all a little like his idea of a dream. If he was dying right now, could his system make something like this up out of nothing?

Shuichi is already standing, waiting for him, their hands still connected, and Kiibo reaches for the end of the chair arm to pull himself up. His aim is off by a few centimetres, depth perception thrown by the lack of input from one eye. He’s sure that this would be a lot easier if Shuichi would give him his other hand back, but he focuses on the process of standing as he remembers it - holds tight, pushes up with his arm, puts his weight on legs which can only barely reach the ground, leans forward, and uses the momentum to lift himself.

He falls. Shuichi catches him easily at the waist with one arm, _still_ doesn’t let go with the other, but it takes Kiibo several seconds to realise he hasn’t hit the ground. He stands for a moment, leaning against Shuichi, dazed. _So light_ , he thinks. He’s overcorrected for weight that no longer exists. _Too light_.

‘Well done,’ Shuichi says, and Kiibo’s first instinct is to take it as sarcasm, but his voice is soft and his touch is gentle. Some part of him wants to just stay there a little longer with Shuichi’s arm around him, but most of him, the scared, dizzy part, wants to find a box or something and curl up until his body works out that it does, in fact, exist. ‘Want to try again, Kiibo?’

Kiibo puts his free hand on Shuichi’s chest to put some space between them, does his best to stand steady, marks “balance” as highest priority on his list of diagnostics, and waits the few seconds it takes for things to readjust. Seeing the numbers in his head, he’s sure that there must be some mistake - there has to be more missing than just plating. While his body still thinks that everything is out of place, there’s nothing he can do to check.

He takes a half-step back. Shuichi hovers, ready to support him, but the only hitch in his movement is a slight stiffness in one knee.

Shuichi’s smile is so bright that Kiibo looks away.

‘It’s good work,’ he says, because he feels like he has to say something. He means it, though; it may be a little disorienting, but almost everything seems to be in line, if… different. ‘You’re good with machines.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I assure you that I wouldn’t lie, Shuichi,’ he says, frowning.

‘I just meant -’ Shuichi stops himself with a sigh, but his smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m so glad you’re you.’

‘Who else could I be?’

‘I was… scared that you would be like that again. Cold, like when you lost the signal.’ Shuichi puts his arms around him. It feels nice. It feels intrusive. ‘You were cool, though.’

The words are synonymous.

‘Shuichi,’ he says, ‘you’re holding my hand.’

‘Oh!’ he lets go immediately, blushing. ‘Sorry, I… It’s just become a habit - I thought you might find it reassuring, since in the hotel… but you wouldn’t remember that, of course. Sorry, do you not like it? Is it okay?’

It takes fifteen seconds of silence for Kiibo to realise that he’s waiting for direction that isn’t coming. His inner voice has nothing to suggest.

‘Kiibo?’

‘I… I guess it’s okay.’ Kiibo says. It comes out sounding like a question. ‘I’m sorry, I just feel… “out of it”, as they say. Please forgive me.’

‘You don’t have to apologize,’ Shuichi says. ‘I can’t even imagine what it must feel like, so… take as long as you need. I’m just glad you’re here, Kiibo.’

No one’s ever said that to him before, not like that, not with such warmth and genuine relief, and for reasons he doesn’t understand himself, he pretends he hasn’t heard it.

‘It’s so quiet,’ he says. ‘Usually…’

‘Oh.’ Shuichi seems to understand. He takes both of Kiibo’s hands in his, golden eyes full of sympathy. ‘Of course. It’ll probably take you a while to get used to it, but… At least they’re gone, right? They can never touch you again. Not the audience, not Tsumugi, not Danganronpa. I’ll keep you safe.’

Two loud beeps from the next room make them both jump.

‘Sorry, that’s my phone,’ Shuichi says, embarrassed. ‘I’ll be right back.’

Kiibo watches him leave, unease growing like ivy in his chest. Something is wrong. Something is missing.

‘What’s Danganronpa?’ he asks the empty room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things... aren't quite what Saihara expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since the last update but this fic is still very much in progress! I didn't work out how I wanted to write Saihara until long, long after I'd already written this chapter, so a lot of editing was required and it's a little disjointed, but I hope it's okay!

Shuichi loves Kiibo.

That’s the simplest way of saying it. Three words. It’s a love that’s more vivid than any other feeling he’s experienced in a long, long while, and it hasn’t dimmed with time, even if the memory of Kiibo's voice, Kiibo’s smile, has. It’s a love that has allowed him to continue fighting to fix him without ever thinking twice.

Shuichi had poured his heart and soul into Kiibo. He had returned to the “school” within the week, knowing that it would become too traumatic an experience were he to wait any longer, while Team Danganronpa was still fighting to hold itself together. The courtyard had been a mess. With some (unwanted) help from a handful of employees who had been determined to be rid of him as soon as possible, he had combed the area for intact pieces, with little success - almost everything had been burned up into ash that slipped through his fingers and blackened his skin. The self-destruct system had done exactly what Shuichi could only assume it had been designed to do: ensured that Kiibo’s death would be permanent, that his technology wouldn’t fall into unintended hands - hands like his.

Refusing to be disheartened, Shuichi had taken everything he could find from Kiibo’s and Miu’s labs. There hadn't been much of use in Kiibo's - only weaponry which Shuichi was determined would never be needed again. He had been more than happy to leave that behind. Miu's had been more helpful, even if half of the building itself it had been destroyed. He had taken everything that looked even remotely useful. Most had been junk, but a lot had been spare or broken parts which he had been able to find use for. He had taken most of Miu's tools, too.

This still hadn’t been nearly enough to rebuild from. When Shuichi demanded that Team Danganronpa give him everything they had from the design and building process, they had brushed him off by putting him in contact with a former employee. Shuichi had never met her in person, and nothing could convince him to trust her, but she had mailed him enough original blueprints, photographs, and parts, taken directly from their labs that Shuichi hadn't been forced to seek direct contact with Team Danganronpa since. He had even received enough pieces of the external covering to make up for the majority that had been destroyed. Either out of amusement or genuine interest in his progress, she regularly texted him with questions on what he was struggling with and tips on what brands to use and what sites to order from.

Perhaps the parts and blueprints she had sent had been from an older design, for they were subtly different from what Shuichi remembered - if not for the cracks he could do nothing about (he still hadn't worked out how the external covering had been made, how it could look so like flesh and skin despite being hard and unyielding everywhere other than the face), this design could have passed for human with little effort. There were no lines tracking down the cheeks (what had those been for, in the first place?) and there were recognisably human ears (or had Kiibo had ears under those things the whole time?) and without the armour plating, all it would take was some discreet covering with clothing - gloves, long pants, long sleeves - and he would have been indistinguishable from a human being. In fact, he had received some clothing fitting this description from his contact, complete with a hat. It looked a little like a school uniform, so where it had come from and why it fitted Kiibo was beyond him.

With care, Shuichi had reconstructed Kiibo’s body as best he could, starting with the exterior form for no reason other than his own comfort, then moving on to the internals. Most of these parts were entirely new, bought online for a pretty penny, and if he couldn’t find a replacement, he had had to make do with what he had salvaged from Miu's lab. Money wasn’t a problem - Maki had somehow managed to blackmail Team Danganronpa into providing them with homes and relative safety before all involved parties effectively vanished from the public eye. The water and electrical bills were still being paid by Team Danganronpa, and the money he had “won” from surviving the show was still not even close to running out, since all he had spent it on was Kiibo and the minimal amount of groceries.

And it had all worked out, somehow, eventually, though he doesn’t know what exactly it was that he had finally done right. But Kiibo had woken up. That was all that mattered.

He’s better than Shuichi had remembered, even, more alive. Just watching him move on his own, watching the little motions and mannerisms that feel both so new and so familiar, makes Shuichi want to sob, want to give him the world, want to hold him and never let go again. He dreads looking away in case this is all a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He's understandably overwhelmed. Perhaps this is why it takes him so long to notice that something is wrong.

Kiibo is… jumpy. Overly attentive, overly sensitive to sound and motion. Kiibo has always asked questions, has always tried to keep up, so seeing him so obviously confused and yet still quiet scares Shuichi. He takes it upon himself to fill the silence. One-sided conversation is sort of his specialty, now, after all. Nothing he says (and he says a lot, can’t stop rambling, though his voice shakes,) succeeds in calming him down.

To get Kiibo used to his body, he asks him to go over his external joints one by one to check whether anything needs to be tightened. Shuichi is personally more concerned about the internals, but this is something that Kiibo can and should do himself, and ease of movement is probably a more pressing issue for him. He wishes Kiibo had waited a little longer before turning pain simulation back on, but he apparently hasn't had any pain so far.

Shuichi keeps glancing up, re-evaluating. After all, the last time Kiibo’s behaviour changed so drastically… But when Kiibo does speak, his words are thick with stammers and second-guesses. It’s still not right, and it’s still not reassuring, but it’s better than the alternatives; better than cold and single-minded vengeance or the hollow echo of someone else’s words.

Kiibo is just disoriented, he tells himself. Of course he is. It’s a new body, a new house, and the inner voice that he’s relied on for so long is silent. And after everything that’s happened, only hours ago as far as Kiibo is concerned, who wouldn’t be a little shaken?

But what Shuichi can’t explain away is why Kiibo freezes for a moment every time Shuichi touches him, why he flinches when Shuichi moves too close, too quickly.

That hurts. That really, really hurts, when it’s the first time reaction Shuichi has gotten at all in so, so long. Shuichi has been waiting for a response of the opposite kind, for Kiibo to lean into his touch, which is why even though he knows that it’s probably making him uncomfortable, he can’t bring himself to let go of Kiibo’s hand. He said it was okay, right? So it’s fine. It’s fine.

Shuichi only realises that he’s lapsed into silence himself when Kiibo finally speaks up.

‘Are the others okay?’

‘They’re doing great,’ Shuichi reassures quickly, cursing himself for falling silent. ‘We keep in contact.’

‘And this is… your house?’ Kiibo says, not meeting his eye.

‘Yep, it’s mine,’ Shuichi tells him. ‘Ours.’

Kiibo’s motion stutters almost imperceptibly. Shuichi guesses that he doesn’t believe him, and really, he can’t blame him. It’s a bigger place than he knows what to do with himself.

‘Your room is upstairs,’ Shuichi says brightly, pointing to the ceiling.

‘My…?’ Kiibo stops completely, then, eyes wide. _Cute._

‘I know everything seems strange.’ Shuichi squeezes his hand. ‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘R-right,’ he says, looking away again.

Shuichi wishes he would smile.

‘Shuichi, I… Could I ask you to tighten this for me, please?’ Kiibo points to the back of his shoulder, on the side of his nonfunctional eye. ‘I can’t see it.’

‘Sure,’ he says, although he’s certain that this isn’t what Kiibo really wanted to say.

He hardly notices Kiibo handing him the screwdriver, struck by guilt over the fact that he still hadn’t been able to find a replacement eye. It was only luck that one of Kiibo’s original eyes survived the blast, but the other is now just a dead screen, cracked behind new glass.

Without thinking, he brushes Kiibo’s hair back to get a closer look.

Kiibo flinches, pressing himself into the back of the chair. Shuichi realises the screwdriver is in his hand, mere centimetres from his face.

‘Sorry,’ he says, moving his hand back and standing up to get to Kiibo’s shoulder, a little shaken. He can understand why it scared him, but somehow it still feels like an over-reaction. Maybe he’s just not used to Kiibo reacting at all. Yet when he touches his shoulder, Kiibo goes completely still. Shuichi tightens the joint as carefully as possible.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’

‘N-no, it’s okay. I’m just not used to it.’

‘Not used to what?’ Shuichi asks, confusion making him sound more skeptical than he intends. ‘You get repaired pretty often, right?’

‘You’re being very… gentle, Shuichi,’ he says, as though it should be obvious that this is the problem.

‘Of course I am,’ Shuichi says blankly. ‘Is that so strange?’

It takes him a while to work out what to say. ‘Your movement patterns and the amount of pressure you apply are irregular,’ he settles on. It comes out stiff and formal, almost monotone. ‘It may take me some time to adjust, but please don’t let it bother you.’

Shuichi frowns. Kiibo has always been easy to read, but now he can’t even guess what he’s thinking. He had thought Kiibo knew he could trust him by now, but… then and now were different, of course. He was probably still getting used to the idea that Shuichi did actually know what he was doing. Still, what could have taught him to flinch and freeze like this? Miu probably hadn’t been _gentle_ , but she certainly wouldn’t have hurt him, and the doctor probably hadn’t even existed in the first place, not that it would feel that way to Kiibo. As for whoever had actually created Kiibo… Well, Kiibo wouldn’t have any memories of that in the first place, if Team Danganronpa could help it. There was no reason Shuichi could think of for him to be so scared, so quiet, so closed off.

Well, Shuichi _can_ think of _one_ explanation, but…

There’s a knock at the door. _Maki_ , he reminds himself, before panic can set it. Maki had left at around half past two, and Kiibo had woken at around seven twenty, and it was now - he pulls out his phone to check - almost eleven. Everything suggests that Maki could feasibly be starting the drive back home by now, but that wasn't enough to be sure.

‘I think it’s Maki, but let me check, okay?’ He doesn’t think he sounds very confident, so he’s not surprised when Kiibo stands on uncertain legs and follows him to the door, lingering a little way behind him.

Hearing the jingle of keys on the other side of the door, Shuichi hurries to unlock it before they can, opens the door a crack, and holds it there.

Maki, realising that he's not letting her in, glares at him through the gap and puts her hand on the door, threatening to push it open. Shuichi doesn’t doubt that she could. ‘It’s just me,’ she says.

He’s grinning before he can stop himself. Maki stares, now too alarmed to be irritated. He swings the door open and lets her in before she can shove it open herself.

Maki’s expression changes drastically as soon as she looks past him.

‘Kiibo,’ she says. Her keys slip from her hand to clatter on the wooden floor, but she doesn’t even blink. Shuichi closes and locks the door behind her. Kiibo, visibly concerned and uncomfortable, picks up her keyring and holds it out to her. She clears her throat and takes it with a shaking hand, pulling herself back to reality.

‘You’re… okay, right?’ she asks seriously. ‘You’re… really Kiibo?’

‘Who else could I be?’ he asks again, no less serious than the last time, but perhaps more worried.

Maki actually smiles. Just a little.

‘Could I talk to you for a second, Maki?’ Shuichi says.

She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, though she isn’t crying. ‘Sure.’

She walks unprompted to the kitchen and starts the kettle on boil.

‘Won’t be long,’ he tells Kiibo, who looks even more lost than before. Shuichi steers him back into the living room as gently as possible, because his glances at the door worry him. Shuichi presses a kiss into his hair without thinking and doesn’t realise what he’s done until he’s already halfway across the room. He doesn’t look back.

‘When did he wake up?’ Maki asks.

‘Only a couple of hours ago.’ His breath catches in his throat half way, and he swallows. It feels more real, saying it out loud, with someone there to confirm that it’s happened.

‘You really did it, huh?’ Maki says, dropping a tea bag into a cup with something like a smile still lighting her face. ‘I hoped it would work out, but… it did take a long time. Sorry for doubting you.’

‘I can’t blame you.’ He takes the kettle from Maki when she’s done and tops up half a cup of cold coffee with hot water and stirs it in. He tries not to think too hard about how long it’s been sitting there.

‘Is everything okay, though?’ Maki leans back on the counter, looking through to the living room. ‘He seems kind of freaked out.’

Shuichi follows her gaze. Maki isn’t wrong. Kiibo is sitting against his chair rather than it in, tracing the cracks in his arms as his working eye flicks erratically from left to right, following lines of text or code visible only to him.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Shuichi admits.

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing. He just seems… scared. Confused.’

‘Is that really so surprising?’ Maki says. ‘His world got turned on its head. He died. Twice. It may have been a while ago for us, but for him, it only just happened.’

‘I don’t know.’ Shuichi twists the teaspoon between his fingers. ‘Maybe I’m overthinking this.’

‘You’re sure he really is Kiibo, though, right? You don’t think someone from Team Danganronpa could still be interfering?’

Shuichi shakes his head. ‘He’s still himself, just shaken. Maybe it hasn’t hit him yet that we’re out of the killing game now. He doesn’t seem to have lost any of himself with the signal, like last time, which is a miracle, and he knows who I am, but -’ he cuts himself off and pretends that it’s to take a sip of his coffee rather than to stop himself from voicing his worst suspicions. It tastes vile. ‘He’s sort of uneasy around me.’

‘Well, you haven’t done anything _weird_ , have you?’

‘No!’ Nothing that Kiibo was conscious for, at least. God, that sounded bad.

‘Okay, sorry, I’m just making sure. Does your contact know?’

‘She called me a few minutes after Kiibo woke. I didn’t pick up.’

‘Doesn’t that suggest that they’re monitoring him somehow?’

‘Team Danganronpa doesn’t exist anymore. If she _is_ monitoring him, it’s only her.’

‘That’s still not reassuring.’

‘We can deal with one person, though, right?’

Maki blinks in surprise, but relaxes when she sees that he’s smiling. ‘We sure can,’ she says, and drains her cup.

‘Do you want to stay here tonight?’

‘I’ll pass. I don’t want to intrude.’ She pauses before placing her cup in the sink and turning to face him. ‘Be careful with him, okay? You've had a lot more time to recover than he has.’

‘I’m not going to hurt him, Maki.’

‘I don’t think you’d hurt him.’ She leaves a  pause long enough to fit a five-syllable word. ‘I'm more worried about what you might do to make sure he _doesn't_ get hurt.’

‘What's that supposed to mean?’

She shakes her head, pulling her phone out of her bag. ‘Just give him some space.’

Shuichi looks over her shoulder as she angles the camera through the door and zooms in to get a photo of Kiibo. She opens the messaging app they use - a lesser-known, more secure option, just in case, and sends the image to Himiko’s account.

‘I’ll get going now, if that’s okay. I didn’t mean to stay long.’

‘Yeah, of course.’

She gives Kiibo a genuine smile on the way out.

Shuichi’s house is the last on the street, the last in the town. In every other direction, there’s nothing but fields. It takes him a few seconds to get used to the sunlight, and even then, he’s squinting. Maki’s phone beeps as she reaches for the car door handle, and she snorts when she sees what it is.

She holds the phone up for Shuichi to see. Himiko’s message consists of five exclamation marks, bolded and italicised. Shuichi laughs. Maki shakes her head and gets into the car.

‘Call me if anything happens, okay?’ Maki says through the window. ‘ _Anything_ , okay?’

‘I'll try,’ he says. Maki winds up the window and pulls off onto the road.

Kiibo is standing in the doorway of the living room when Shuichi gets back in. Proof that Maki is okay must be a reassurance, as her brief presence has clearly calmed him down a little.

‘Are you okay standing?’ Shuichi asks, when Kiibo avoids his eye. ‘Does anything hurt?’

Kiibo shakes his head, but Shuichi can see that he's placing most of his now-meagre weight against the doorframe.

‘Does Maki come here often?’ Kiibo asks, before Shuichi can tell him not to push himself, barely audible thanks to his refusal to look up from the floor.

‘Not really,’ Shuichi says. ‘Maki works on and off as a sort of… high risk courier or something. Valuable or priceless goods get dropped off somewhere here in town, and she transports them back to her city for them to be sold. It’s a good job, since she can make use of her training without having to deal with people who might recognise her. She and Himiko live together, but it’s a two day drive here from their place, so we don’t really see each other much.’

‘They live together?’

‘In the middle of the city. I wanted to avoid the public eye until you were awake, at least, so I decided to live here, at the edge of the middle of nowhere. Maybe we can move back in with them soon.’

‘You three are that close?’

‘When you go through something like that, you have to stick together,’ he says, aware that he’s echoing Maki. But now that he thinks about it, he can’t remember the last time he saw Himiko in person. Actually, when did he last leave the town?

Shuichi dismisses those thoughts and pulls out his phone, navigating to his photograph collection. Shuichi has never really been big on taking photographs, so there’s barely anything there other than a few images of Kiibo, unconscious, and maybe one or two screenshots from the show that he had stumbled upon by chance and kept. Even if they dragged up bad memories, it was comforting to have at least a few images of Kiibo as he had once been. With some difficulty, Shuichi finds the gallery of images saved from his message app and pulls up a few that Maki has sent him. He knows that Kiibo’s fingers won’t work on the screen, so he holds it up for him and flicks through. A photograph of Himiko playing some video game on the T.V., a poorly-taken selfie of Maki, Himiko’s room lit with fairy lights.

Kiibo watches with bright-eyed fascination, and Shuichi remembers that his memories of the outside world must vary greatly from the reality, as his had. He pauses on a landscape image of Maki and Himiko’s city and hands the phone over. Kiibo stares at it for a full three minutes or so, taking in every little detail, entranced, then carefully hands the phone back.

‘What about Kaede?’ he asks.

Shuichi freezes, phone half way into his pocket. What _about_ Kaede? What is he even asking?

‘I… had thought that you and Kaede were close,’ Kiibo elaborates. He seems to be pulling back into himself, thinking he’s said something wrong. ‘And now you’re friends with Maki and Himiko…’

A… social misunderstanding? Friendship is probably something relatively new to him, after all, so it’s not so hard to believe that he would have some strange ideas, but…

‘I’m sure Kaede wouldn’t mind,’ he says. ‘And even if she’s gone, she still means a lot to me.’

Maybe he’s misinterpreted, because Kiibo only frowns. After a few seconds, something whirs softly inside his head and Shuichi realises that he’s looking not only at him, but also at something in his database. Kiibo hesitates for another moment, and Shuichi, lost, waits for him to speak.

‘Is Kaede dead?’

Shuichi can only stare. He doesn't even process the question, doesn't even understand it, but he feels suddenly light-headed.

‘What?’ he breathes, his throat  dry.

‘N-no, sorry, of course she isn’t,’ Kiibo says hastily, waving his hands as if to wave away his question. ‘I’m sorry, please forget I said anything.’

‘Wait, Kiibo, what? What are you talking about?’

‘No, I - um.’ He grips the fabric of his shirt tightly, looking down at his hands. ‘I must have just misunderstood. I thought you meant that she was “gone” as in… I'm sorry.’

‘Kiibo, you were there,’ he says slowly. His voice shakes. ‘You saw her… you saw what happened to her.’

‘What happened?’

‘No,’ Shuichi says, louder than he intends. He takes a few shakey steps toward him. ‘No, Kiibo, you… you were there. You saw it. You remember it, right? You remember?’

Kiibo hesitates, searching Shuichi’s face wildly, looking for… what? The right answer? ‘I… don’t think so…?’

Shuichi’s chest feels so tight that he can barely breathe.

‘No,’ he says again, but it doesn’t quite come out right. ‘But you remember _me_ , right? You knew my name. You know me?’

Kiibo doesn't answer.

Shuichi's heart sinks.

No. No, he can fix this. He's fixed everything else, right? He takes Kiibo by the shoulders. ‘Let me have a look at your hard drive.’

Shuichi realises his mistake immediately, but doesn’t let go even as Kiibo slaps a hand over the side of his head and tries to shrink away from him, shaking, eyes blown wide.

‘No, I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he stammers, gripping his own hair so tightly in his desperation to keep Shuichi from removing the card that it surely must be painful. ‘I can do better - I-I won’t ask any more questions. Please give me another chance.’

‘I’m not going to hurt you. You _trust_ me.’ Shuichi tries to sound calm, but his voice is too loud and his shock and frustration, badly concealed, are easy to translate to anger.

‘O-okay, I’m sorry, I trust you.’ He says it too quickly, like it’s all one word. He's crying.

This is all wrong. He was promised an intact copy of the A.I., not… this. Not fear.

Something snaps audibly under his hand.

Shuichi pulls away as though he’s been burned, watches the colour return to his knuckles. Kiibo turns his head away and raises his arms in defense, eyes tightly shut.

It's only now that it hits him. As far as Kiibo is aware, Shuichi is a stranger. If Kiibo has picked up from a point before… before what happened to Kaede, they’ve probably never even _spoken_ , and now Kiibo has suddenly found himself in Shuichi’s house, badly damaged for reasons unexplained.  The confusion, the distrust, the silence, the uncertainty, the fear of making him angry - Kiibo doesn’t know him. Kiibo doesn’t know what happened. Kiibo thinks… God, he can’t even guess what Kiibo thinks is happening.

Shuichi takes a deep breath and a few steps back, forcing himself to calm down. ‘I’m going to sit down over here, Kiibo,’ he says, when there are a good few metres between them. He slowly lowers himself to the ground as Kiibo watches uneasily. ‘You can sit down, too, if you want, but it’s up to you.’

After a few seconds of deliberation and a not-so-discreet glance at the door, Kiibo sits down and pushes away until his back is against the wall, increasing the space between them. He draws his knees up to his chest.

‘I’ve been, uh, freaking you out a bit, huh?’ Shuichi says, trying to keep his tone light, which is difficult when he sort of wants to cry. ‘It seems like you’re missing some memories. Does that sound right? I’m really sorry - I had no idea.’

Kiibo doesn’t reply, doesn’t seem to believe him, so he moves on. ‘Could you tell me what the last thing you remember is, from before you woke up here?’

Kiibo hesitates. ‘I was talking to Kaede,’ he says uncertainty. ‘There was a loud noise, and then nothing.’

‘And how long had we been in the school?’

‘One night.’

Their second day of confinement. Before Rantaro’s death. Before the motive was presented, even. ‘Kiibo, you’re… really missing a lot,’ he says. No reply. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? You must have realised pretty quickly that something was wrong.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s nothing to apologize for,’ Shuichi says, but what he means is _please stop_. ‘I just want to know why you didn’t tell me.’

Kiibo glances between Shuichi and the door before answering. ‘I thought…’ he trails off. Shuichi nods encouragingly. ‘I thought you’d done this deliberately.’

‘Me?’

‘I don’t know you,’ he reminds coldly. ‘I don’t know what you want. I don’t understand anything you do or say. Your behaviour has changed drastically and you won’t stop touching me. You… changed what I _look_ like… If this is your w-weird delusion, then -’

‘No, no, I can explain all of that. I’m sorry for acting weird. As I said, I didn’t know, and you’re missing a lot. I got a… confidence boost, I guess, and we were…’ he hesitates, ‘…close. And we got out, but you got… really, really badly damaged. Since we were, uh, friends, I decided to do my best to fix you.’

‘Why you? Why couldn’t you ask someone else? Why couldn’t you find Doctor Iidabashi? You’re a detective, r-right? Why would you put this upon yourself?’

It takes Shuichi a long time to think of an answer that won’t only scare him more. Who could he have asked, when the rest of the world both believed that Kiibo was dead? He had checked whether Iidabashi had ever existed, just in case, and found barely a trace of an “Iidabashi Industries”, a faceless organisation that had dropped off the face of the Earth before planning for their season had even begun. That was… definitely not information Kiibo would take well.

‘I did get a little help from someone who knew about robotics,’ he says, truthfully. ‘But when I tried to find your doctor, I didn’t have any luck. Do you know where he lives?’

‘I… I don’t,’ he admits, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. ‘He is very secretive. Even _I_ don’t know what the outside of the lab looks like.’

That’s… concerning, but at least Kiibo seems to believe him.

‘But how did we get out?’ Kiibo asks. ‘The Death Road?’

‘Well… something like that.’

‘And…’ he glances at the door again, then pulls his legs in closer. ‘Is Kaede…?’

‘Kaede’s -’ Shuichi begins, but the words catch in his throat. Kaede is one thing, but… twelve people had died, in total. Kiibo had been one of them. This is a Kiibo who never experienced the true brutality of the killing game, who never witnessed death, who doesn’t know the truth of his creation. He hasn’t developed the fortitude it would take to recover from a blow like that. In fact, he probably couldn’t have recovered even if he hadn’t forgotten, probably wouldn't have been able to forgive himself. Surely… surely it would be kinder to just…

‘Kaede’s fine,’ he says, and he almost sounds like he believes it. ‘Everyone is fine. We got out. You don’t have to worry about any of it ever again. I’m sorry for reacting like that. It was just… a really weird thing to ask, you know? Because if you’d remembered, then you would have known that Kaede was… fine.’

Kiibo breathes a sigh of relief, and his tension leaves with it. ‘Thank goodness.’

‘Yeah,’ Shuichi says. ‘Thank goodness.’

He doesn’t call Maki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? A memory loss fic where the memory loss isn’t directly acknowledged until the third chapter? Well… my bad, I was having fun. But more importantly, I wouldn't call this a memory loss fic, (even though I just did,) because memory loss is by no means the only thing I'm going to be working with here! Please stay tuned! And you can reach me on [Tumblr](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/)!  
> Also, thank you to the talented [n00dl3Gal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/n00dl3Gal/pseuds/n00dl3Gal) for advice on writing Saihara!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiibo reaches a conclusion, and a compromise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that I didn't quite succeed in saying what I wanted to in this chapter, but hopefully it'll work out okay in the end. Thank you for the kind comments and kudos so far!  
> I don't think it’s quite bad enough to merit a warning, but there is a deliberately ludicrous amount of overthinking in this chapter, and some of the conclusions Kiibo jumps to are not very pleasant. Please keep in mind that they're not necessarily correct.

Kiibo hasn’t experienced much, all told, and even he knows that the heavily regulated books and television programs that he’s seen can’t make up for what he’s lacking, but it doesn’t take a genius to tell that Shuichi’s explanation is missing a few answers. Answers to questions concerning exactly how long they were in the school, and how they escaped, and why he was so badly damaged, and what had made Shuichi so determined to fix him.

But at least he can trust that everyone else is okay. Not telling the whole story is one thing, but he knows that Shuichi wouldn't lie to him.

And he knows this because his inner voice tells him so.

Shuichi sits in the kitchen with his head in his hands, picks up his phone and puts it down a lot, and then falls asleep slumped over the table at three seventeen in the afternoon. Uncomfortable and more than a little confused by this failure to adhere to sleep standards, Kiibo folds over a sheet he finds in the living room and lays it over Shuichi’s shoulders, careful not to disturb him. He then takes the opportunity to explore the house as quietly as he can. Beyond the barren kitchen and living room, he finds a bathroom with bottles of something that smells vaguely like the idea of fruit and a blank space where the mirror should be, and a room with a dusty car he doesn't dare touch, poor lighting, and a lot of boxes. He doesn’t brave the stairs. Shuichi clearly hasn't lived here for very long, because there's not much of anything anywhere other than the car room. He wonders why Shuichi lives in such a big house on his own, and where his parents are.

He can’t sleep, but he curls up in a corner of the living room and idles until he’s “woken” fifteen hours later by Shuichi apologising profusely, panicked and upset. The way Shuichi moves has changed again, like now that he’s come to the conclusion that his touching makes Kiibo uncomfortable, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Seeing him fidget is almost worse. In the midst of his rambling, he thanks Kiibo for not having left the house.

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

‘Do you want me to show you your room?’ Shuichi asks, after a pause to catch his breath. ‘It’s pretty empty, but I want you to have a look at some things for me.’ Kiibo doesn’t know what sort of room Shuichi means, but he nods and hopes that he isn’t going to get locked away.

He hates that he has to accept Shuichi's help with the staircase.  It's not so much that Kiibo doesn't want to be touched as that he doesn’t understand why Shuichi wants to so badly, and so often. People don’t generally touch him without purpose. It’s to examine, or it’s to fix, or it’s to break, and there is no in-between. Shuichi only touches for the sake of touching, and Kiibo can’t relax, reminded with every brush of skin that this is a body with which Shuichi is intimately familiar. Shuichi knows exactly how to shut him down, how to paralyse him, how to remove and modify and break. _And he will,_ insists some part of him, every time, _any moment now, any second - he'll tighten his grip and snap your bones and laugh in your face._

Kiibo doesn't have bones, though, so he doesn't listen, even though his shoulder is still stinging from where Shuichi cracked the plastic only hours earlier. Instead, he focuses on trying to scale the stairs without giving Shuichi a chance to either catch him or let him fall. He can't calculate the likelihood of either possibility.

‘Well done!’ Shuichi says, when they reach the top. He sounds sincere enough that it's only a little humiliating. Shuichi crosses to the first door on the right.

‘It’s not much,’ he says apologetically, opening the door. ‘I wasn't planning on staying here long, so… sorry.’

But it’s a lot. It’s far too much. There’s carpeted floor, a window with curtains, a wardrobe, a mirror, a near-bare bookcase, and a bed. Better than at the lab, and better even than at the school.

Shuichi rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. ‘I know you would prefer a more traditional style, but I hope this is okay for now… We'll probably move to Maki and Himiko’s place, so I'm definitely going to put together a nicer room for you there, okay?’ When Kiibo still fails to respond, his nervous smile falters. ‘Do you not like it? Is it the bed? I know you don’t sleep, but I thought you might like one, just for comfort. Of course, I can get rid of it if you don’t…’

Kiibo can only stare. Maybe he's misinterpreted everything. Shuichi seems to know a lot about him. Maybe they really _had_ been friends, and… Kiibo had missed all of it.

‘Thank you very much,’ he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. It's the first thing he's said all day.

Shuichi releases his breath as a laugh. ‘There's nothing to thank me for. Did you have a bedroom at - before?’

‘I do,’ he says, jumping to his own defence so quickly that he fails to catch the tense. ‘Not - not a bedroom, exactly, but a room.’ He struggles to think of something impressive to say. ‘One of the walls is a window, and… sometimes there’s a television.’

‘Only sometimes?’

‘Only when the doctor wants me to watch something,’ he says. ‘Afterwards, I have to tell him what I thought of it.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Not… often,’ Kiibo admits. ‘Most experiments take place in another room, so everything else is in there.’ Kiibo hasn't been taken to that other room in a while, but he doesn't know what else to say. Sometimes the doctor let him choose books from a trolley, and sometimes people came and stood at the window and talked and wrote on paper, but he couldn’t hear them through the glass. These things were increasing rare, however, and couldn't be considered a feature of his room, so he doesn’t mention them. Shuichi is already giving him a strange look anyway.

‘Well… I can move the T.V. up here if you’d like,’ Shuichi offers. ‘Anyway, I need to take a shower and have something to eat, so what I was hoping you could do for me while I’m doing that is have a look at some clothes.’

‘Clothes?’

‘Yeah!’ Shuichi moves toward the wardrobe. ‘I’m really sorry that I couldn’t do anything about what you had on you. I couldn’t recover it, so when I found out that you could function without it, I decided it would be best to just focus on your actual body. Is that okay? Do you need any of that?’’

It takes him a moment to realise he means the armour. He raises his hand to touch one ear self-consciously, only to drop it back down to his side when he sees how Shuichi's eyes track his movement.

‘There are some parts I prefer not to be without, but it's not a problem,’ Kiibo assures him. ‘Some parts served their own functions. They plug in and run off of my power. The primary function of the armour was to protect me while I didn’t have easy access to maintenance - My body was only designed to hold my A.I., so it’s not very physically sturdy.’

‘That’s okay, then,’ Shuichi says cheerfully. ‘As long as you’re with me, you don’t have to worry about getting damaged.’

‘...Right.’ As in, he can't leave. As in, Shuichi is his home now. As in, if Shuichi decides he isn't worth having, he's as good as dead.

‘Anyway, my point is that I got you some things.’ Shuichi opens the wardrobe. Kiibo doesn’t see the connection between his words and his action until he beckons for Kiibo to come closer.

Kiibo takes a few uncertain steps toward him and looks into the wardrobe. Inside is a rainbow of assorted fabric that means absolutely nothing to him. He gives Shuichi a questioning look.

‘Y-yeah.’ Shuichi clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you would like, but… I can go and buy you some more things, but for now, if you could just check whether you actually want any of these…’

‘Wait,’ Kiibo raises his hands. ‘These clothes are…?’

‘For you, if you want them.’

Kiibo’s eyes widen. ‘Not… _all_ of them, right?’

Shuichi laughs. ‘Yes, all of them. There are more in my room, too.’

Kiibo runs the situation through his databases as quickly as possible, trying to see this from a human viewpoint, but he still doesn’t understand. Humans don’t give each other clothes for no reason, as far as he knows. An idea occurs to him, and his hope fades as quickly as it had come. He directs his gaze to the floor, closing himself off again. ‘Is this… a joke? Because I’m a robot, or -’

‘No, Kiibo! Don’t worry so much! They’re just clothes.’

Kiibo blinks and looks back at the wardrobe. He lets his fingers brush the fabric, as delicately as if it were spiderweb. Human clothes. ‘Are you sure I can really have these?’

Shuichi smiles, bemused. ‘I got them for you, Kiibo.’

Kiibo’s breath comes out sounding like a laugh. He clutches his hand to his chest. He thinks he might be smiling. Whatever expression he’s making, Shuichi clearly loves it, instantly flooded with delight that straightens his back and lights up his features. He starts leafing through the clothing like pages in a novel, tugging certain pieces up and out and laying them on the bed. The sound of the coathangers scraping on the rod is like light.

‘I wasn’t sure what you would like,’ Shuichi says, ‘so I… well, I just got some of everything. These ones are some of my favourites! Obviously, you can mix it up, but they look good if you put them together like… like this, see?’

Kiibo nods eagerly, though he thinks that maybe he doesn’t _really_ understand - the way Shuichi has paired the items up looks pretty, but he’s not sure why, or how Shuichi knew that it would, and the clothes themselves are already so colourful and beautiful on their own that the arrangement doesn’t give him much other than some clues as to what is worn where.

‘Do you want to try something on?’ Shuichi asks nervously. ‘You don’t have to, but I did get them for you, so it’d be nice to see.’

‘Will they fit me?’

‘Of course! It all fits you, and it all suits you! Everything suits you.’

‘Well… alright.’

Shuichi smiles at him with a shine in his eyes that make him infinitely more beautiful before stepping back toward the door. ‘I’ll be in the shower, but you just come down and knock on the door if you need to ask me anything, okay? Will you be okay with the stairs on your own?’

‘Yes,’ Kiibo says. He already knows that he probably _should_ ask Shuichi about how to put any of this on, but asking for advice on how to change clothes would get him laughed at, so he leaves it at that. Shuichi leaves the door open a few inches as he slips out of the room.

The wardrobe is daunting, so Kiibo starts by closing it, opting to focus on what Shuichi has already taken out. Shuichi had said he liked these, anyway, so it lowered the risk of disappointment. Now that he thinks about it, though, isn't it sort of strange to have favourites of something you've never seen in use?

 _He’s done this before,_ he realises. _He knows what will suit me because he’s already seen me in it._

The thought unsettles him. He imagines his limp body in Shuichi’s hands, doll-like. Is that what Shuichi fixed him for? Dress-up? Maybe he was right from the start after all, and this really is only Shuichi’s delusion.

But a voice in the back of his head says that it doesn’t matter, if this is what Shuichi wants, if this is what will make Shuichi happy.

And that voice is awfully loud, all of a sudden.

He’s glad to have his inner voice back, but he doesn't understand why it’s offering input so infrequently now, or why the nature of its words has changed. It’s actually a little scary, because it's only now that he's been given guidance which doesn't understand that he's noticing just how debilitating that voice really is. It fills his head like fog and leaves him drowsy and relaxed, showing him that everything is going to be fine and all he has to do to make it so is trust. The urge to obey is so, so strong, but this time there's nothing _to_ obey. It’s not even a suggestion, not even an order, just a statement that isn’t necessarily true.

At least it’s still there. He can’t imagine being without it, but it probably wouldn’t be good. Every time it falls silent again, he feels uncomfortably hollow, like there's too much space in his head, like he has to grip every individual thought tightly or it’ll fall down into nowhere and vanish forever. And his inner voice is right, as always. As long as Shuichi is happy with him, he's safe.

So… he should probably get changed.

Before even attempting it, he checks the mirror. He can only put it off for so long, after all.

It would be an overstatement to say that he doesn’t recognise himself, but it does take a while for his system to acknowledge that what he’s looking at is his own body, rather than a porcelain doll thrown to the ground and put back together. The vivid blue of the tape that covers the worst of the cracks is jarring, and his left eye is a lost cause, completely black except for the light caught in web-thin lines. Maybe he was wrong about the dress-up thing after all - he’s not exactly pretty. He actually feels sort of sick just looking at himself. Shuichi must be some sort of saint to be able to smile so wholeheartedly at something that looks like this.

But… in a way, he also looks a lot more human than he remembers. His chest rises and falls in a mimic of breath that wasn’t there before, even if he’s always been breathing. If he defocusses his working eye and imagines the tape as eccentrically coloured bandaids and the darkest holes as particularly distinct bruises he looks… very nearly like a real person. It reminds him of something. Someone. These clothes - a school uniform, he thinks - seem familiar, even though he’s never even been to a real school before this. They fit him too well to be Shuichi’s.

His thoughts shift and slip again, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

He… had known, when the situation had unfolded as it had, that people would be expecting things from him that he couldn’t provide. He would be held to the standards of fiction, which was bad enough, but… he had received a harsh reminder immediately after “waking up” that while he may be a technological miracle compared to other A.I., he was still far below average compared to human teens. In a “game” like this, humanity was vital, and any misstep would place him under suspicion. He would have to be ready to stand up for himself at the shortest notice. He had been ready to work hard, to help, to be worth something. Everyone else had something they could do, and even those whose talents weren’t particularly useful in this situation specifically had some other quality to rely upon.

Kiibo’s only “talent” was that he could pretend to be a person, and not even very well. He was the best at what he did because no one else did it, because no one else needed to.

It would definitely take him a while to get used to the fact that the thing he had been so worried about was now in the past, already complete. How much had he lost? How much had he contributed? Had he been useful, in the end? Had he done something good? He must have, for Shuichi to like him. He must have done something incredible, for Shuichi to love him.

Well… no, he couldn’t be sure about that. It… would make sense, though. The room, the clothes, the gentleness, the weeks - months? - spent fixing him, the _money_ it all must have cost, the lingering touches, the patience, the familiarity, the dazed euphoria, the fear when he realised that Kiibo hardly remembered him, and… well, Kiibo knew what holding hands meant, and if that wasn’t enough, Shuichi had even _kissed_ him. There was a non-zero possibility that Shuichi loved him. Had loved him. Had lost him.

It’s scary. Kiibo doesn’t know a lot about love, but he's seen it on the television and in books, and he's seen what can happen when you lose it. Love is one of the most important, powerful things in the world, according to the movies. It could fix anything. Sure, it was nice, sort of, to think that he had become someone worthy of that, someone that Shuichi could believe he loved so much that he would bring him back from the brink of “death”, but… that wasn’t him. He wasn’t Shuichi’s Kiibo. Shuichi had gone to all this effort for someone who no longer existed.

No. Kiibo could fix this. Getting his memories back would have to come later, but for now he could work on being the best he could.

He sits down on the bed and examines the clothes Shuichi has laid out one by one. His fingers brush the lace of a sleeve. It’s all magnificent, and for no reason at all. There’s no deeper meaning or purpose, only colour for the sake of colour, pattern for the sake of pattern, frills for the sake of frills. He’s never had such beautiful things in his life.

The process of getting changed is halted repeatedly by his inexperience. Working out how to put on the new clothes takes him over ten minutes. His hands shake and his fingers slip over buttons and clasps, but by the end he’s fairly certain that everything is in place as it should be, though the way he put it on was probably not what was intended. He stands and straightens it out and returns to the mirror.

He looks good.

He looks ridiculous.

Everything is too short. Not immodestly so, but the most inhuman parts of him, the joints of his knees, his ankles, his elbows, his wrists and hands, stand out. He looks away, but refuses to be disheartened. If he changes into something longer and thicker and puts on some shoes with a high collar - laces, too much of a hurdle, left untied - and a sweater - softer than anything he’s ever touched - and pulls the sleeves down as far as they will go, he can cover almost everything.

He defocusses his eye again and covers the other with his hand before looking.

‘Oh,’ he breathes.

Mixed up, something seems off about the clothes, but disregarding that, he looks… real.

‘...Oh.’

A human room, a human bed, human clothes, and even a body that could pass for the real thing, if you didn’t look too closely. Right. Of course Shuichi wouldn’t want a machine. Nothing he had done in the time he had lost could have made up for the fact that he wasn’t human. What was he even thinking? Even as someone worthy of Shuichi’s affection, he hadn’t been good enough.

But… no, no. It didn’t matter. This at least showed that Shuichi was willing to compromise, and faking human was what Kiibo was made for, after all. If he could find a way to repair the cosmetic damage, he might be able to pull this off. Until then, he would cover what he could. He can do this. He has to, if he wants to make this up to him. He can’t give Shuichi any reason to throw him away.

He tugs the sleeves down again, but his fingertips still peek out. This would have worked better had things been too big for him, but it will have to do.

From the top, and without Shuichi to help him, the staircase is infinitely more daunting. He presses himself as close to the wall as possible for support on his way down. Every step feels like the one that will make him fall, and by the time he reaches the bottom he’s so shaken that he has to sit down for a while on the last step to calm himself down.

When he does make it to the kitchen, Shuichi has already showered, changed, and eaten. Some of the tiredness has been washed away, and his hair has lost its orderliness. Seeing Kiibo, his eyes light up and he drops his towel to the table immediately.

‘You look great!’ he says, before even looking at the clothes. He glances down at Kiibo’s feet. ‘You don’t know how to tie shoelaces?’

‘Well…’

‘That’s okay!’ Shuichi crouches down. ‘I can teach you, some time.’

Kiibo stays as still as he can as he watches Shuichi’s quick fingers twist the laces in an order he has no luck memorising, even after seeing it twice. Shuichi tightens both knots before standing again. He straightens Kiibo’s collar.

‘You really do look different, now,’ he says. ‘Not in a bad way, or anything, just… different. Almost human.’

Only almost.

Kiibo can’t stop himself from covering his blind eye with his hand as he looks down at the floor between them in shame. Shuichi lets go of his shoulders quickly and takes a step back, memory jogged by the reaction, even if he probably misunderstands what caused it.

‘I’m sorry about your eye,’ he says, leaning down a little to match Kiibo’s height, which only makes Kiibo feel worse. ‘I’ve been trying to get a replacement, but I’ll admit I wasn’t as worried about the outside as the inside… I should’ve thought about how you’d feel. It’s your body after all. Sorry.’

Kiibo’s confusion drives him to risk looking up. Shuichi smiles.

‘I’m sorry for scaring you yesterday,’ he says gently. ‘I can’t imagine what you must have thought, but… I want to show you that you can trust me, okay? You don’t have to be so nervous. I’m not going to get mad or anything. I want you to feel safe. So if you want anything, or if you have any questions, you can ask me, okay?’

Kiibo is fully prepared to see this as an attempt to get him to lower his defenses until his inner voice reminds him, with a jogging of the memory rather than words, that Shuichi wouldn't lie to him.

Stunned, he asks the first question that comes to mind. ‘Am I going to get my memories back?’

Shuichi is silent for so long that Kiibo is about to apologize for even suggesting it when Shuichi finally sighs.. ‘I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘I don’t know why you lost them in the first place. There was no damage to the hard drive, so it must be something non-physical, but I don’t know anything about programming… Do you _want_  them back?’

‘I think so,’ he says. This is not necessarily true, but he doesn't realise until he's already said it. He hasn't even considered it. How could that slip his mind, of all things? What's wrong with him?

Shuichi takes a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I’ll see what I can do. And I’ll work on fixing that eye and doing something about these cracks, too.’

 _[You love him],_ says his inner voice, so loudly and clearly that he almost jumps. _[Who else would be this kind to you?]_ That numb feeling is back, but this time, more as an experiment than anything else, he lets it happen, feels a weight lift from his shoulders and from his mind.

‘Thank you for everything, Shuichi,’ he finds himself saying, finds himself smiling, just a little. Yes, this feels right, this must be the right thing to say - ‘Not just for fixing me. For everything. I'm glad you're here with me.’

Shuichi seems to like that. Maybe if he smiles more, Shuichi will be happier.

‘I… do have a question, though,’ he continues. Following his inner voice has left him with a lingering sense of calm, so he wants to make the most of it before his confidence dissipates again. ‘Please forgive me if I’m mistaken, but were we…' - he struggles for a moment to find the right words - 'romantically involved?’

Shuichi’s expression goes blank for a few seconds, and Kiibo wonders whether he’s going to laugh at him. Shuichi looks away, biting his lip, and then back, looking him straight in the eye.

‘Not if you don’t want us to have been.’

Kiibo takes that as a “yes”. It’s strange to hear, and he still can’t imagine what he had done that had made Shuichi like him, but at least this implies that it wasn’t one-sided. This could make things easier, ideally, and explained the familiarity.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, as confidently as he can manage. ‘I don’t have a problem with it, and I would prefer that I wasn’t lied to. Thank you for telling me the truth, Shuichi.’

‘Ah… yeah.’

‘And…’ Kiibo laces his fingers together and looks down at them. ‘I’m sorry that I’m not used to you touching me. I-it’s not you. Without the armour, everything seems more vivid, and no one’s ever wanted to touch me for no reason before, and I’m sure that your Kiibo had more time to get used to it, but even then he would have had the armour, and -‘ he cuts himself off, realising he’s not only rambling, but blushing. ‘I’d… like to learn - learn to get used to it, but - but just for now, if it's at all possible, if I could have… just something to cover my hands with, maybe… sorry.’

‘That’s no trouble at all, Kiibo,’ Shuichi says, relief audible. ‘Luckily for you, I actually have some already, and I was told they were yours. Here -’ he slips past him into the living room and tugs a pair of dark gloves out of the pocket of the jacket atop the chair Kiibo had woken in. He drops them into Kiibo’s hands. ‘But you don’t have to get used to it, you know? I can learn not to do it. I just found holding your hand reassuring in the time that I didn’t know when you were going to wake up.’

It doesn't make him any less determined to adjust, but it’s certainly reassuring to hear, and to get an explanation. He’s expecting some difficulty, but the gloves fit him perfectly despite the subtle differences in his hands - certainly far better than any made for a human could have. Who had told Shuichi that these were his? He’s never seen them before, and yet he feels at ease wearing them. He flexes his fingers a few times before holding his hand out for Shuichi.

Shuichi grins, an expression that seems to make him sparkle, and takes Kiibo’s hand. There’s no instinctual need to pull back, this time. It's warm.

‘This is okay,’ Kiibo says, to both of them. ‘If it’s anywhere else, please ask first.’

‘Sure,’ Shuichi says softly, stroking Kiibo’s thumb with his.

Yes. This was okay. This was fine. Kiibo could do this, even if it meant doubling the amount of simulations and calculations he was usually running though. If he could convincingly emulate fear and anxiety, so real that he could swear he felt them himself, then why not trust? Why not love?

If he had fallen in love with Shuichi once, he could do it again. Whether it was real or not wouldn’t matter.

If it's anything like this, though, the real thing might not be so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses on the source/identity of Inner Voice 2.0?  
> ([Tumblr](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^; ... I'm back! Sorry for the wait, especially to the three people who contacted me about it! Long story short, I've been away. Having gotten back and had time to get this done, I really wanted to get this up ASAP, so sorry if this chapter is a little weak! This time we're introducing the other major aspect of this fic, which will get the ball rolling at last, so I’m a little worried... I hope it's okay!  
> (A quick warning: This chapter contains allusions to past child neglect and a depiction of what I can only describe as self-harm. They’re both not as bad as I’m probably making them sound, so just consider this warning an extra precaution!)

Shuichi feels worse with every day that passes.

Time is moving in a way he’s no longer familiar with. It’s all too fast. He spends a lot of time typing half-sentences into the search bar or in a message to his contact, then hesitating until the screensaver kicks in. He spends a lot of time procrastinating, finding that the boxes that have been left untouched since he moved in suddenly need to be opened, that clothes he hasn’t worn since he last washed them suddenly need to be washed again, that the disorder of the book pile in his room suddenly bothers him so much that they need to be arranged by name, author, colour. But he spends the most time with Kiibo.

Things are okay, really, which makes the fact that Kiibo is so blatantly _not_ okay infinitely more worrying. He's stopped flinching and is talking more, at least, but he hesitates for several seconds before opening his mouth and refuses to meet Shuichi’s eye beyond quick glances to check his reaction. His usual rigid posture and focused expression have vanished. New noises startle him and new information leaves visibly uncomfortable. _There's nothing to be afraid of,_ Shuichi assures him, again and again, until he realises that it isn't fear, as such. This simply isn't the sort of environment Kiibo is equipped for.

Shuichi can imagine that shortcuts must have been taken - why bother programming an A.I. built for a fictional world to be able to function in reality - Allowing an audience surrogate to be able to make decisions on its own?

He knew, of course, that Kiibo had never been intended to leave the set, but he hadn't considered how deeply that expectation had been etched into him. Anything that wouldn't come up would have been considered an unnecessary hassle to program in. Outside of the strict, pre-set parameters of the game, Kiibo was completely lost, still trapped in the mindset of a person whose life was under threat.

Or… no, half the world beyond that door would still kill him, even now. And they’re not even the half that Shuichi is worried about. He avoids social media, but it hardly helps – Danganronpa may have ended, but its fans are still unavoidable. Kiibo is still popular, and this is a world more advanced than the one Shuichi remembers. There are other robots out there, less human than Kiibo, but easier to buy and to make. Replicas aren't uncommon. Shuichi has seen them online more than he would have liked. Results varied. Treatment varied. At best, they were a prized possession. At worst… no, he doesn't know that the worst he's seen is. He doesn't like to think about it.

Shuichi tells Kiibo that he can watch T.V. if he wants to, that he can read something if he wants to, that he has some paper and pencils if he wants them, but the number of options (and there really aren't very many) overwhelm him far more than is proportional. Shuichi can only assume that this is a side-effect of having lost his inner voice. In the end, Shuichi pulls a sofa-bed out of the garage and into the living room, puts on a DVD of some animated film he vaguely recalls liking, and sits down with him. Kiibo watches, wide eyed, for the entirety of the movie, like a child on their first trip to the cinema.

Shuichi remembers half way that Kiibo adores film media, that it’s his main point of reference for human behaviour. It makes sense that this would be familiar enough to calm him down a little. And so he puts on another DVD, and another, and then dumps the rest on the floor in front of the T.V.

‘You can watch whatever you want,’ he explains, handing him the remote.

‘For how long?’ Kiibo asks.

‘We’re not going anywhere, so it’s up to you,’ he says. ‘No time limit.’

Kiibo doesn’t say anything, but Shuichi can tell that he’s happy.

Shuichi had probably been colder than was necessary towards Kiibo during the game, at the start. He had thought about this often as he was fixing him. Sometimes, when he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about, he would think back and try to redo conversations, but he could never remember much. He hadn’t been paying attention. He wishes he had let his eyes linger a little, just watched the life in him. How had he not been fascinated from the start? He couldn’t understand it.

Now, he gives Kiibo his full attention. He knows what he’s doing this time. He’s patient, he’s gentle, he’s encouraging, he asks questions he already knows the answers to and then asks more.

He’s not expecting any obvious effect, but Kiibo warms to him within days. The uncertainty and anxiety refuse to fade, but Shuichi finds himself becoming a reassurance, rather than a source. Slowly, Kiibo stops avoiding his eye, starts talking to him with little to no prompting, starts smiling – and not a smile that Shuichi has ever seen before. He tells himself that it’s no big deal – if he goes off his theory, he’s the only thing in this world that Kiibo was intended to interact with, after all.

Kiibo is still nervous, still hesitant, but there’s more hope to it. The possibility that Shuichi could become a threat is still there, but now that he’s had time to see what is okay and what isn’t, and found that mostly everything is, he’s opening up.

But he feels like he's giving Kiibo much, much less than he deserves, and Kiibo has no idea. It seems that he genuinely likes him, looks up to him. The gratitude he gives makes it seem as though Shuichi has given him the world, when all Shuichi has really given him is a little attention, a little patience, a body with cracks and spaces, and an empty bedroom with a door that locks from the outside.

No, he's delighted that Kiibo is feeling more comfortable around him, really. It just makes him wonder whether he would have been this trusting, this open, this honest, with some other stranger, had they been the one to fix him. Someone from Team Danganronpa, maybe, or a fan. Someone who would care less about the “who” and more about the “what”, who would pay less attention, who would take advantage of his naivety, who would push him down, who wouldn’t even be _gentle_ -

The thought makes his whole body tense so hard that he shakes, and his jaw clamps tightly shut, and his nails would carve crescents into his palms had he not already bitten them blunt.

It is absolutely vital that Kiibo doesn’t leave the house.

Shuichi takes to sleeping on the couch next to him every night, staying close for both their sakes. Clutching Kiibo's hand like a lifeline with the occasional whir and hum of his machinery and the white noise of the T.V. in the background, Shuichi sleeps better than he could ever hope to anywhere else. Every time he leaves the room, anxiety rises in his gut, and he keeps his ears pricked for any sound.

Shuichi doesn't know how to handle this Kiibo. He's still used to faith, confidence, pride. It didn’t matter that the faith was blind, that the confidence was false, that the pride was carefully designed to keep attention away from the aspects of himself that he was less proud of. That was Kiibo. Not that this _isn't_ , not that he dislikes this, but… it's scary, seeing Kiibo both so in awe of him and so terrified of slipping up, and Shuichi unable to understand any of it. What is he doing right? What is he doing wrong?

But it’s okay. Shuichi can work with this. Kiibo is smiling more, talking more, and Shuichi is watching, is listening, this time.

Except… it's _because_ he's listening that he's starting to realise that a lot of the things Kiibo says either don’t quite make sense or seem to be… missing pieces. Kiibo has a lot to say, as always, but when conversation turns to the physical, the real world, his own experiences, he draws a blank. Kiibo has mentioned his past, or what he believes it to have been, but he hasn’t said any more than what Shuichi had already heard from the game. Maybe there isn’t much more to say.

So Shuichi asks.

‘What’s it like at your house?’ he says in the kitchen one day, after making coffee.

Kiibo takes a long time to consider his answer.

‘It’s quiet,’ he says. ‘Quieter than here.’

This is a quiet house, in a quiet area, already. The most noise you’ll get is a dog’s bark, or the sound of a car leaving town, or an aeroplane crossing over some kilometres away. ‘You live at a lab with the doctor, right? That must be strange.’

‘I suppose it is,’ Kiibo says. His hand traces the lines in the table’s woodgrain. ‘I don’t know that doctor Iidabashi lives there, though. Maybe he just comes over.’

‘You… don't know whether he lives with you?’

‘I haven't seen the whole building, so it's possible.’

It's only when Shuichi fails to say anything in reply that Kiibo looks up, seemingly having been under the belief that he hasn't said anything particularly unusual.

‘Um… I'm not really supposed to leave my room, so…’

‘Kiibo, what…? What sort of place do you live in?’

‘I think it's a robotics research and development institute…’ he says, sounding uncertain. ‘A lot of people work there. I already told you it was a laboratory, Shuichi.’

‘Yeah, you - you did.’ Yet somehow, having heard how Kiibo described the doctor, Shuichi had imagined the home of a man who had centred his life around his interest, not a literal lab. He remembers, abruptly, how Kiibo had described his room, suddenly cast in a new light. In the setting of an actual laboratory, the image starts to make awful sense. ‘Kiibo, that sounds… awful.’

‘What?’ Kiibo appears too surprised to be offended. ‘No, I… no one is mean to me, or anything. I’m happy there.’

‘Don’t you get bored, though? Don’t you get lonely?’

‘If I experienced boredom, it would interfere with results… And I see the doctor every week - or more like every month lately, or… every second… o-or third, or fourth month, at least, so… I’m not alone.’

‘Four- Kiibo, you've been left on your own for _months_ at a time?’

Shuichi must be letting his distress show, because Kiibo spends several seconds trying to read his expression before answering with confusion. ‘Only a few times. He just forgot, he said - the human memory is far from perfect. Does it matter?’

It’s funny - Shuichi hasn’t thought about Tsumugi in a long, long time, but suddenly he’s picturing his hands around her throat. What the hell is this supposed to be? Had Kiibo had these sorts of memories from the start, and it just… never came up? From what little he had heard of Kiibo's fabricated past, he had understood it to be comfortable, at least, if a little lonely, but this sounds like… complete isolation. Hardly even a life at all.

And he can’t do anything about it. He wants to comfort him, convince him that it’s going to be better, but what could he say that wouldn’t only confuse him more? He hates this. He hates it.

Shuichi is upstairs when he hears it: the click of the front door’s lock. He takes the stairs two at a time, heart in his throat, almost tripping at the bottom.

He doesn’t even process what he’s seeing, doesn’t even think before moving. The next thing he knows, he’s slammed the front door closed and pressed his back against it.

‘What are you doing?’ Shuichi asks breathlessly, still too stunned to comprehend the situation. He hadn’t seen this coming at all. Had he misread something?

Kiibo only looks at him blankly. Something about him is wrong – or right, maybe. He looks more himself than he has these past few days; more focused, less afraid. For a moment, Shuichi thinks that he’s remembered, but Kiibo says nothing. Slowly, he looks back over his shoulder, down the corridor. Shuichi takes the opportunity to reach for his arm.

Kiibo doesn’t so much flinch as slap Shuichi’s hand away.

He goes completely still mid-movement, eye tracing the lines of cracks in his skin, then shifts back into motion, jittery, unnatural, touching his arm, his chest, his neck, his face. He exhales sharply, taking a step back.

Bewildered, Shuichi raises his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘Kiibo, it’s okay, I -’

‘How do you know that name?’ he demands. His voice is level, not matching his volume or expression. ‘Where’s Miu? Did you something to her? Did you hurt her?’

‘ _Miu?_ ’ he says. ‘Miu’s…’ What can he say, though? What is this? ‘Kiibo, listen, do you know who I am?’

Kiibo's expression finally shifts away from dull confusion and into shock, then anger. It's immature, the unbridled fury of an insulted child.

‘I'm not like you,’ he says, volume rising with each word. His voice, still unnatural in its clarity, handles the emotion poorly, buzzing with static. ‘I won't forget people  the moment they're no longer relevant. Do you believe everyone is like that? Do you really believe everyone thinks like you?’

‘ _What?_ Kiibo, listen, I - whoever you think I am...’ Shuichi knows that reaching out is a mistake even as he does it.

‘Don't touch me!’ Kiibo - or _not_ Kiibo? - yells, but by pulling away he only traps himself against the wall.

‘Kiibo, it's okay,’ he says, _pleads_. What has he done to deserve this, a second time? ‘I'm not going to hurt you. I'm as confused as you are! Please, just calm down and we can work out what's going on.’

Kiibo presses himself against the wall, as far away from Shuichi as he can manage. He studies Shuichi's face for a moment, his chest rapidly rising and falling, but Shuichi can tell that he's already chosen not to believe him. What he's looking for isn't sincerity.

He raises his hand, fingers splayed, palm inches from Shuichi's face, and even though things are different now, look different now, even though he never saw the motion up close, or directed at him, Shuichi knows exactly what Kiibo is trying to do.

‘You can't,’ he says, voice hoarse. He means it in both senses of the word.

Kiibo’s system must agree, because he drops his hand, frustrated and confused, then slams his fist into his own forearm. The sound it makes is dull, hollow.

‘Ah,’ he says.

Without hesitation, he digs his short nails into his inner forearm, trying to pry open a panel that was never intended to be opened manually.

‘No, Kiibo, just - leave it, please -’ But when it does yield, he not only swings it open but tears it from its delicate hinges. Shuichi can't help but wince as the panel clatters to the ground.

Inside Kiibo's arm is an empty space, the perfect size and shape to fit a small weapon. Shuichi knows the schematics, knows the parts; knows that he had refused to even consider including it.

Kiibo doesn't even say anything.

‘It was too dangerous, Kiibo,’ Shuichi says, though he's certain, now, that this isn't Kiibo at all, in the sense that matters. ‘I couldn't let you live with that sort of thing in your body.’

‘This body isn't mine anymore,’ he tells him, not as a retort, but as though this is something he should know already. He presses his hand into the space, up into where a glimpse of bare wires thread through into the joint to connect to his upper arm, where the weapon would have connected, had Shuichi built it. Sparks dance between his fingers.

‘You - you're going to hurt yourself,’ Shuichi says helplessly. Something snaps in Kiibo's arm, then again, then again. He only grits his teeth and digs his fingers in further, hooking them around as many wires as he can. The metal creaks.

Kiibo pulls.

The resulting shock is clearly unexpected, so strong that his legs give out under him. The hand of his now-damaged arm, previously clenched tight into a fist, goes limp. Kiibo claps the hand of his intact arm over his mouth to muffle a sharp, pained noise, curling in on himself.

Then his movement stutters, and stops, like a wind-up doll running out of energy.

‘Kiibo?’ Shuichi immediately drops to the floor. Panic crowds his head, so loud that he shakes.

Kiibo is still for a long time. Then he exhales sharply, causing a tremor to wrack his whole body. He makes no sound.

‘Kiibo, are you - do you -’

Shuichi isn’t even sure what he’s asking, but Kiibo nods, the motion almost lost in his trembling.

‘Hey, it's okay,’ Shuichi says, ‘It's alright. C-can I touch you?’

Rather than answering, Kiibo raises himself on one shaky arm, his eyes wet and tightly shut, and half-falls into Shuichi's arms, burying his face in Shuichi's chest.

After a moment's hesitation, Shuichi reaches around and threads his fingers into Kiibo's hair, holding him close, resting his chin on his head. Still silent, Kiibo grips the back of Shuichi's shirt tight enough to crease, as if afraid that Shuichi will vanish any second.

‘It's okay,’ Shuichi says, again and again. With his other hand, he snakes his phone out of his back pocket and pulls up his messaging system, opening the chat to Maki.

_something's happened_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may come back and fix a few things later, but for now I hope it wasn't too far from up to scratch?  
> It’s difficult for me to tell because I know what’s going on, but I think there are a lot of things in this chapter which could be confusing or too vague? For example, it’s difficult to talk about Kiibo’s “past” when the only person in this chapter who knows about it doesn’t understand / isn’t willing to acknowledge the negative aspects. Also... while it may not seem like it, I'm actually paying VERY close attention to canon. Anyway, I’m more than happy to elaborate and/or discuss, and comments of any sort are forever a blessing!!!  
>   
> ([Tumblr](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/))


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is what it is.

There's a space of one day between the overtaking and Maki arriving. One day of Shuichi fussing and apologising and checking that he's okay every few minutes. It could be worse.

It happens again, or threatens to, the night before Maki arrives. Kiibo's head hurts without biological reason, his ears ring louder than usual, and on both sides rather than one, and he feels increasingly disoriented, like he's about to wake from a dream - although he can only imagine how that might feel. He grips Shuichi's hand and focusses so hard on deciding whether or not he should wake him over this that the feeling subsides before he knows it.

His arm doesn't hurt, at least, but it doesn't do anything else, either. Despite Shuichi’s best efforts, nothing below the shoulder will move. Kiibo doesn't mind it, really. He's had worse. But because Shuichi minds, he finds himself hiding it, as he has been hiding the rest of himself, even knowing that they both know. If he moves _just_ right, he can mask the lack of motion by lacing his fingers together, or by gripping his wrist with his other hand, or by crossing his arms to that the other is supporting it, and when he walks it's not too noticeable, since he's still able to move his shoulder. The efforts are wasted on Shuichi,  but it makes Kiibo feel better about it.

He knows that he's talking less again, knows that it's scaring Shuichi, but he prefers it to the alternative - When he does speak, he struggles to keep the words in his head long enough to get them out, leaving him sounding like either a child or a machine. The former makes Shuichi baby him and the latter makes Shuichi worry. He doesn't want either.

Maki arrives mid-afternoon on the second day.

She stops as soon as she sees him, her attention caught, her eyes tracing his expression, then his clothes, then his posture.

‘Are you okay?’ she says slowly.

Kiibo looks to Shuichi, more to avoid Maki's eye than to seek guidance.

‘Wait upstairs for me, would you?’ Shuichi says gently, ignoring Maki's stare.

‘What, I can't talk to him?’ she says, as if he's already gone. ‘Is he worse than before?’

‘He's okay.’ Shuichi’s voice drops to a volume Kiibo can’t hear as he moves into the living room with Maki reluctantly following. Kiibo waits a moment before starting up the stairs, only to stop at the top step and sit down. It's a good few minutes before he hears more.

‘He _what_!?’ Maki’s voice could probably boil water. Kiibo freezes, only a few steps between him and the next floor. ‘How much?’

‘Everything past the second day.’

‘And you didn't tell me? What… what did you tell _him_?’

He doesn't catch Shuichi's reply. He shuffles a few steps lower down.

‘Are you kidding me? Everything we went through, everything we worked for, you want to leave behind? You want to pretend it never happened?’

‘This isn't about me.’

‘No, it isn't. It's not your decision to make. Have you thought about this at all? It may not seem like it to him, but this is a Kiibo who's never experienced _anything_. Are you sure you want the first real thing he experiences to be a lie you can't sustain?’

‘Actually, I… about that. I'm beginning to think that what Tsumugi told us wasn't necessarily true, or at least not the whole truth.’

A pause. A sigh. ‘I wouldn't be surprised, but you're going to have to give me more context than that.’

‘My contact sent me all sorts of blueprints and photographs and information and parts, but it was as though it had all come from two different designs.’ There's a rustle of paper. ‘One design was Kiibo as we knew him, and the other was… I don't know. Not so different, but more simplistic, more streamlined. It could more easily have passed for human. I assumed that design 2 was an unused beta or something similar which had been built and then dismantled, which was why my contact was able to send so many pieces but in such a damaged state, but looking at the information now… There's no sign of any planning process having taken place. Only images and notes. The design we knew as Kiibo's is lacking in information on the internals completely, which is why I was forced to rely on the second one more.’

‘So… what? What does that mean?’

‘I don't think they really built Kiibo. I think they took a preexisting body and modified it for the game. I think Kiibo already existed before Danganronpa, as someone else, just as everyone else did.’

‘Shuichi, have you seen him? He was pretty obviously designed to fit some kind of series archetype. That's no coincidence.’

‘I know, but there must be some other explanation. There's too much evidence.’ A pause. ‘That… person who took him over, whoever they were, they knew about a weapon concealed in the right forearm, a feature unique to design one, and they knew how to use it. And they said… they said “this body isn't mine anymore”, which makes is sound like it had been, at some point, and… at first I thought that they meant because of the damage, and the changes, but now I think they also meant that it wasn't theirs in a more literal sense, as if…’ he trails off, but Maki finishes his sentence for him.

‘As if they had already given themselves to Danganronpa.’

They're both silent for a moment.

‘You're not safe with him,’ Maki says. ‘I'm taking you both back to our house.’

‘That isn't necessary.’

‘Maybe not. But I don't trust you with Kiibo any more than I trust this stranger with you.’

‘What?’

‘You think you can decide what's best for him just because you were dating for a few days? You think you can make these decisions yourself? You didn't even call me, Shuichi. ’

‘He's not _safe_ out there.’

‘Transporting precious cargo is my job. Not once has anything under my protection fallen into the wrong hands.’

‘He's not an object.’

‘I didn't say he was.’ Maki takes a deep breath. ‘I'm not willing to argue about this. You can't live in denial forever. We're leaving.’

A long pause. ‘Just give me a few minutes, okay?’

‘Whatever.’

Kiibo climbs the stairs again, as quickly as he can, and drops down onto the bed in his room, but it's another few minutes before Shuichi shows.

‘Hey,’ he says brightly, as if he hasn't just been in an argument. ‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘Yes,’ he says hesitantly. He's not sure he's comfortable with how quickly Shuichi was able to compose himself.

‘I've told Maki what happened.’ Shuichi sits down on the bed next to him with his legs crossed, a few centimetres too far away. She wants us to go to her place… It's a two-day trip, and in the city, so I'm not exactly happy about it, but what do you think?’

Does it matter what he thinks? He focuses on his hands. ‘You said that we would be going there eventually, so…’

‘I… did say that, didn't I?’ He sighs. ‘Would you be okay, though? We'd have to stay the night somewhere, and the city is a lot louder than here, with a lot more people.’

Kiibo doesn't say anything. He isn't sure that it's really a question. When he tries to imagine leaving, the ideas die in his head like lit matches in the wind.

‘I’d be with you the whole time,’ Shuichi continues, ‘and the house has plenty of security, and Maki’s taken this route dozens of times and never been seen…’

Who is he trying to convince?

‘I’m okay with it,’ Kiibo says. ‘We can go. We should go.’

Shuichi is silent for a long time, watching Kiibo carefully. He slowly places his fingers over Kiibo's on the bed, making sure that Kiibo sees. ‘Maybe I should have one more look at your arm, first,’ he suggests.

Kiibo hastily shakes his head. ‘It - it’s okay,’ he says. The last thing he wants is a repeat of yesterday's hours of “try now”s and “anything?”s. Shuichi’s frustration and guilt had only grown with every failed attempt, and Kiibo hadn't expected anything in the first place. ‘It's really not a problem. I can manage it. I can make do.’

‘You shouldn’t have to.’

‘We can try again later, then,’ he suggests. He hopes that they don't.

‘...Yeah. Okay.’

Shuichi bites his lip. He holds Kiibo's hand with no more force than is necessary to lift it. Kiibo feels none of it.

‘May I?’ Shuichi says, holding Kiibo's hand inches from his mouth. Kiibo nods, his face growing hot.

Shuichi's lips brush the back of his hand.

‘I don't want you to feel like you have to get by,’ he says. ‘I want you to have everything. I want you to be selfish.’

Kiibo doesn't want to be selfish, so he says nothing.

‘I'm just gonna grab a couple of things, okay? You could go downstairs and talk to Maki if you want.’

Only now that he's briefed her, though. Only now that she knows what she can and can't say. Only now that Kiibo understands that he is even more in the dark than he had thought.

He goes downstairs.

‘Hey, again,’ Maki says, standing by the front door. Again, her eyes linger on his clothes. ‘You don't know me, huh?’

‘I don't,’ he confirms. ‘If there's anything I need to know, then…’ He trails off.

‘Not really,’ she says. ‘We never really talked.’

He nods. He would be more surprised to hear that they had.

‘You're slouching,’ Maki says.

‘Oh… Sorry.’ Kiibo tries to straighten, but it feels wrong; uncomfortable.

‘I didn't mean -’ She breaks off. ‘It's just… not like you.’

‘...Sorry,’ he says again.

Maki's expression is so familiar he doesn't even have to look.

‘How do you feel, Kiibo?’ she asks.

‘I don’t understand the question,’ he says.

‘How are you, now, in your head, different from before you woke up here?’

System diagnostics? ‘Power consumption per second has increased by 32.4%, system speed has dropped by 39.8%, and ability to process and interpret data is inconsistent.’

‘That's… not really what I meant, but… I sort of get it.’

Shuichi reappears at the foot of the stairs, drops a backpack stuffed full onto the floor, and shrugs off his jacket.

‘Here, Kiibo, would you mind wearing this?’ he says. ‘You can take it off in the car if you want to.’

He doesn't understand, but he nods and allows Shuichi to help him with it, feeling Maki's eyes on him the entire time. It's too big for him, and his hands vanish into the sleeves, leaving him feeling small but comfortable. Shuichi tugs the hood up over his head, and he gets it; he's being hidden.

‘Can we go now?’ Maki says. Her keys jingle behind her fingers.

‘Yeah,’ Shuichi says. In the time it takes him to swing his backpack onto his shoulder, Maki is already halfway out the door.

It's only when the open door is actually right there in front of him that reality kicks in and stops him in his tracks.

The world is outside. Has been the entire time, and yet it's only now that he catches the tiniest glimpse of the colour of it, untinted by glass, feels the air of it, is forced to acknowledge it as real, and physical, that he understands it as an option.

A step ahead of him, Shuichi pauses, waiting.

Kiibo had asked the doctor once whether he could go outside, and he had told him that it wasn't possible; prolonged exposure to the sun could damage him. It wouldn't have had to be for long **,** Kiibo had said, just a minute or two, just a few seconds. The doctor had had nothing to say to that. When Kiibo “woke up” after the next update he wondered what he had been thinking and then never thought it again. That sort of thing happened a lot. It was probably for the best.

This isn't something that's supposed to happen. He knows, without knowing, that it's not for the reasons he thinks.

He takes Shuichi's hand.

It's actually not too shocking, at first - these are colours and shapes he's seen before on television and through small windows; those plants, that car, those houses, that sky. But he could touch them, now, if he wanted to, and that is the difference.

He looks up, and there is nothing above him. No ceiling. No dome. If not for Shuichi's hand holding him tight, grounding him, he would surely fall up into the sky. Even as he thinks it, his legs stutter under him and his feet leave the pavement.

‘Watch where you're going,’ Maki says as she places him back onto his feet. ‘You weigh less than Himiko. What are you, a toddler?’

Kiibo hardly hears her. The sun stands over him, sears itself into his eye as he presses himself closer to Shuichi, his head craned back, unable to look away.

‘Is he okay?’

‘I don’t think he’s ever been outside,’ Shuichi says quietly. He squeezes Kiibo's hand. ‘You okay, Keebs?’

Kiibo swallows and nods, forcing himself to look back down. With his free hand, Shuichi opens the back door of the car and helps him in. The car is bigger, higher up than he had imagined.

‘Percentage?’ Shuichi asks, slipping into the seat next to him.

‘Sixty-four,’ Kiibo says. He hopes that his hesitation goes unnoticed. He watches Maki look up and down the street and up at buildings before getting into the car. He wonders what she's looking for.

The car rumbles to life around him and the landscape starts to move. He sees houses and shops, just like on television; tall lights and wires, people on footpaths, dogs. Then fields, plants he can't name, crops, until it gets so dark that all he can see is the rough road in front of them, lit by the headlights, and the interior of the car, lit by the weak light of the dashboard and silent radio.

He sits motionless, staring into the dark on the other side of the glass, Shuichi leaning bodily against his shoulder, breath steady in sleep.

‘You okay back there?’ Maki asks. The dashboard's digital clock reads _23:46_.

‘...Yes,’ he says stiffly. Shuichi shifts, pressing his face into Kiibo's shoulder.

Maki says nothing. _23:47, 23:48_.

‘Listen, Shuichi isn’t making you wear that, is he?’

‘Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing?’ he asks. It doesn’t come out as indignant as he intends.

‘No, I just… didn’t think it was the sort of thing you’d like. But it’s really cute. It suits you.’

‘I… oh. Thank you.’ He looks down at his outfit, embarrassed. What sort of thing did Maki think he would like? ‘Shuichi bought me a lot of clothes while I was asleep,’ he says. ‘I don’t know much about clothing, but I like them. I trust his choices.’

Maki glances back at him through the rear-view mirror, then looks back to the road.

‘You trust him, huh?’

‘Don’t you?’

She’s silent for so long he almost decides she isn't going to answer.

‘Shuichi’s been alone in that house for a long time,’ she says finally. ‘It’s been _months_ since I last had a proper conversation with him. It's not healthy, being on your own, obsessing over one thing - one person. Do you understand that?’

He doesn't. It's too specific a concept.

‘I'm… worried about you, Kiibo,’ she says. She sounds a little embarrassed and more than a little frustrated. ‘You're both acting weird. I don't think you realise, because you don't remember how Shuichi was before, but as for yourself…’

A car passes them - only the fourth since darkness fell. He turns his head and watches until it’s only a speck of light far behind them.

‘I don't know you well,’ Maki continues. ‘To be honest, I… I don't think I ever even _spoke_ to you. But I know that you were never this quiet, or this  passive, or nervous, and since the only difference between then and now is that you've been with Shuichi, who is… giving me reason to worry, really -’

‘It's not Shuichi.’

The sharpness of his tone must surprise her, because she stops talking immediately and looks at him through the mirror, eyes wide. ‘Uh… okay, sorry… H-hey, are you crying?’

He wishes he wasn’t, but this all new to him and now he’s not sure how to stop.

‘Do… do you want me to pull over?’

‘No, sorry.’ He sniffs and tries to wipe his eyes on his shoulder. ‘Keep driving. It's okay.’

‘Do you want to… talk about it?’

‘I… I can't.’

‘You can't?’

‘I don't have anything to say. I don't have the words.’

‘Kiibo…’ she bites her lip. ‘I'm… not the best with people, but you can talk to me. I think you’ll feel better if you try.’

He tries to swallow. It hurts. ‘It’s not Shuichi,’ he says again.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘What is it, then? What are you thinking?’

‘I'm not - I can't. I can't think properly. Something isn't working properly, I… thought, at first but… You know, I - I _know_ I'm not really a per- a human, but in my head, sometimes, I… forget? Actually, this - this isn't related, but when my arm disconnected, I didn't _feel_ anything. I do feel pain, usually, but something like that… Wires and nerves - they're not so similar. Once a wire is severed, it's dead. There's no information to send - nothing to feel. But… Because there was nothing to feel, I felt it. Some part of me that doesn't… _get_ it told me that if I couldn't feel my arm, it must be gone, and if it was gone, it must hurt. And just for a second, I forgot, and I felt it; the idea of the feeling of the tearing skin and flesh, the idea of the feeling of blood. And then I looked, and it was just… wire.’ He pauses, catching his breath. ‘It doesn't _mean_ anything,’ he says sheepishly, ‘it's just… I know. I know that I'm not a human. I don't like to think about it, but I know that I can be changed more easily, both physically and… and… I’m not who I think I am, am I?’

‘Kiibo -’

‘No, sorry, I’m not asking. I don’t know why, but I know you won’t tell me what’s happening, and that’s… okay, I guess. It bothers me, but I trust Shuichi.’ He looks down at his lap, where Shuichi's hand clutches his. ‘But that’s what I’m thinking. Since you asked.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> ([Tumblr](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/))


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara goes on the Danganronpa wiki?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading was delayed by two weeks, and I'm not happy with how I wrote pregame Kiibo, but it's here.

‘Shuichi?’

Shuichi has to physically force himself to open his eyes and sit up. His neck aches from an awkward sleep, and his eyes remain bleary even after multiple blinks, leaving him squinting into the night. Beyond the open car door, a stuttering electric floodlight glares down at him. Its sharp light emphasises Kiibo's movement; his steady breathing, his glances over his shoulder. Maki's silhouette stands not far away.

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep…’ Shuichi's voice is rough. ‘What time is it? Are you okay?’

‘It's eleven forty-two,’ Kiibo says, without pause or movement. Without the churn and rumble of the car's engine, the night is eerily quiet. Kiibo hesitates. He's pulled the hood of his - Shuichi's - jacket back up, casting his face into shadow. His eyes glow dimly, a faint blue light not noticeable during day. Shuichi is sure he's going to say something more, but as the moment passes he only gets out of the car, supporting his damaged arm.

Shuichi checks that the door on his side is locked and grabs his bag before following.

Unnaturally white gravel crunches under his feet. The motel is small - probably no more than four rooms, plus the separate reception building. There are two other cars in the parking lot. Maki watches them, unblinking.

‘Are you okay?’ Shuichi asks again. In the light, Kiibo looks… tired, if nothing else.

‘He's fine,’ Maki says, finally looking away from the cars. ‘I paid on the way over.’ She tosses Shuichi the keys. He only barely catches them. ‘One room. Already checked it.’

 _That confident that we would come with you?_ he thinks, but she was right, so he says nothing. The plastic tag attached to the key reads “3”. Shuichi checks for the matching door and slides it open.

The room is small, but decent enough. One double bed, one single, a TV, a bathroom, and a kitchen bench with only a microwave and a sink. A sliding door separates a small kitchen at the front of the room from a larger space - one double bed, one single, a TV, and the bathroom, a tiny room. Maki drops her bag by the double bed and takes the keys back from Shuichi. ‘There's a heater if you want it,’ she says, gesturing to a remote on the table.

Shuichi glances at Kiibo. The amount of heat he's generating is enough that he feels like he's standing next to a fire from a metre away already. Shuichi can’t tell whether or not he's doing it on purpose.

‘What are you going to do while we're asleep?’ Shuichi asks him.

‘Nothing,’ he says, eyes on the floor.

 _What are you thinking?_ Shuichi wants to ask. He wants, more than that, to tell him that they're going to be okay.

But between Kiibo, who remembers nothing, and Shuichi, who can explain nothing, there is little that can be said.

 

Shuichi isn't sure he's even slept at all when he hears it - a sound in the night. He wants to ignore it at first, but it comes again; a rattle, the smooth sound of wood shifting against metal.

He rolls over and blinks into the dark, trying to find the outline of Maki in her bed. She doesn't move. He looks for Kiibo and finds nothing. The sound comes again, from the kitchen; too far from Maki for her to hear it, but just close enough to Shuichi to wake him. The cold floor stings his feet as he stands, not bothering to find his shoes.

'Kiibo?' he whispers through the open sliding door, eyes too bleary to make much out, especially with the only light that of the floodlight outside, seeping through the curtain. The sound stops.

‘Kiibo?’ he says again, uncertain. He can just barely make him out, now.

'Where am I?' His voice is too loud, too carefully enunciated.

‘Uh…’ Shuichi glances back through the door. Maki rolls over in her bed. Shuichi slides the door closed. ‘Hello, again. This is… a motel.’

Kiibo’s fans pick up speed. ‘Why can't I get onto the internet?’

‘The…?’ Shuichi had never even considered that that might be something Kiibo was capable of. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't think to ask for the password…’

‘Open the door,' he says immediately.

‘Yeah, no, uh… I don't have the key for that, either.’

Kiibo shows no sign that he's understood this. He stands for a few seconds, unmoving, unblinking. ‘Sir, please open the door. I am armed.’

It's only now that Shuichi looks that he realises that it's true. The sharp glint of metal, half-hidden behind him.

‘Where did you get that?’ Shuichi asks, trying to keep his voice calm and steady.

Kiibo motions to the kitchen drawer behind him without breaking eye contact, knife in hand.

‘Are you… going to use it?’

He doesn't answer, but his steady stare says _are you going to make me?_

But then again, it could be saying anything.

‘Kiibo,’ - Shuichi breaks off when Kiibo's frown deepens. ‘Sorry - you don't want me to call you that, do you? Do you have another name?’

‘Why are you talking like you don't know me?’

‘I - I _don't_. I'm feeling just as lost as I'm sure you are.’

Kiibo looks doubtful.

‘I know - I _assume_ we've met, but I don't remember that. I don't know who you are, and that person that you know… I don't remember having been him.’

Kiibo says nothing.

‘My memories were changed for a TV show called “Danganronpa”. Do you know anything about that?’

‘... _Your_ memories?’

‘And… yours, too. I know you, but not _you_. I know the Kiibo who was on Danganronpa. Do you understand?’

‘Season 53 has ended?’

‘Yeah. It's over.’

Still, the only sign of surprise is in the form of silence. Shuichi isn't sure how he feels about a Kiibo whose expressions range only from shades of malice to distrust.

Kiibo says. ‘I was scripted to die. I should not be here.’

That hurts to hear. _And you knew it?_ he thinks. _From the start?_

‘You did... die,’ Shuichi says. The last word catches in his throat. ‘You... self-destructed after the final trial. But I - I fixed you. I brought you back. I put you back together.’

‘To punish me.’

‘ _What?_ No, because I -’ He stops. ‘Listen, can we just talk about this? I think we would both benefit from some understanding.’

Kiibo looks at the knife, then back at Shuichi. His eyes linger at Shuichi's torso with a calm consideration that Shuichi has seen before on Maki.

Shuichi raises his hands - he tries to make the motion casual, but really it's an attempt to convince Kiibo that he poses no risk. ‘This isn't a threat or anything, but I think you should know that the girl in the next room is a trained assassin. She's also the only one with the key.’ He's sure they both know that Kiibo's body is so fragile at the moment that Shuichi could probably take him down himself, but he doesn't mention it. The last thing he needs is for Kiibo to think that he's considering it.

Kiibo is slow to decide. Almost a minute, Shuichi thinks. Finally, he nods. His grip on the knife loosens slightly, but he keeps it close, his shoulders tense.

‘You don't say much, do you?’ Shuichi says, hoping to ease him in by starting simple.

‘Speech ability was not given opportunity to develop as intended,’ he says coldly. Shuichi can't tell whether he's offended him or whether he's being accused. 'Miu said "don't push yourself."'

‘Right, Miu…’ Shuichi wishes he had taken a moment to consider what he was going to say about her after last time. 'How do you know each other?’

‘I am her property,’ he says. His smile - and Shuichi describes it as such only very loosely - seems almost smug.

‘...Okay.’ Shuichi says. _Miu would have loved to hear you say that,_ he thinks.

‘Miu is dead, isn't she?’

He says it so easily. Shuichi says nothing.

‘Did I kill her?’

‘I… no. You didn't kill anyone.’ He… chooses not to mention Tsumugi. ‘It was someone else. They were tricked into it.’

Kiibo only nods.

‘Did you know anyone else, before?’ Shuichi asks, somewhat awkwardly. 'Anyone else who was… casted?'

‘The only person I know was casted was Miu.’

‘They told you you were going to die, but not who else was on the cast?’

‘I didn't need to know. Anything beyond ensuring that Miu was selected was irrelevant. I was to be replaced. I was not to be involved. My duty ended when I was shut down for the last time. Or, for what I believed would be the last time.’

Even without elaboration, Shuichi understands his distress during their last meeting a little more clearly. He takes out his phone and searches for the Wiki. It's not difficult to find. His eyes slide easily over their faces, taking nothing in. He holds it out to Kiibo. ‘Who here do you know?’

Kiibo hesitates, probably uncomfortable with coming any closer. He examines the images from a distance, then points - a smooth, hard to follow motion. Shuichi, Miu, Tsumugi, Kokichi.

And Shuichi the only survivor.

Slowly, Kiibo points to his own image. ‘This is them?’ he says.

‘Yes.’ Shuichi taps the image and lets the page load. ‘This is the Kiibo I know.’

His blank expression shifts slowly into distaste. ‘How humiliating,’ he says. Then, more quietly; ‘How awful.’

‘What?’

‘This design is outdated. It is a caricature. These lines on the face are an old differentiator from when humanoid androids first debuted in public service roles. The plating is practically archaic. Inner mechanisms may be delicate, but protection has been simplified. Iidabashi Technology has long since moved all defense to the interior. All of these changes are inconvenient. Everything useful is gone.'

‘My Kiibo is a good person. If he had had anything more than what they gave him, he would have found a way to use it to get us out of there.’ When Shuichi says it like that, he can almost believe that it's really the only reason.

‘Your Kiibo,’ he says, and nothing more. Not quite a question. Not quite directed at him.

Shuichi swallows. ‘You mentioned an Iidabashi?’ he prompts.

‘My company of origin.’

Shuichi nods encouragingly. It seems to take Kiibo a moment to understand.

‘Iidabashi Technology were the first developers to create an AI which could learn and grow individually and realistically. The public was interested, but they had no intention to mass-produce. The CEO simply wanted to develop his hobby project at his own pace. But the money was needed, and the products were highly desirable, and so a few domestic models were sold at high prices. Rather than altering their near-human-level AI as other companies do, they simply limited it. Domestics were unable to access features not relevant to their roles as household aids. It was not an issue.

'I was won, rather than bought, and returned. Some damage had been inflicted, and having been custom-designed, resale was not an option. They elected to remove limiters and reuse me as a prototype for a military-oriented android. If a machine, passing for a human, could take the place of a human spy, difficulties and loss of life could be avoided. Unlike a human, a machine could film, record, and send and receive information without arousing suspicion, and could also be weaponised. Were things to go wrong, they could be remotely detonated or deactivated. It would be a much safer option.

‘I wasn't intended to actually be deployed, but initial test results were positive, so they sent me to a school and tasked me with keeping a low profile. Rumours got out. Team Danganronpa wanted Iidabashi technology for their television program. Iidabashi refused to even consider it. But Team Danganronpa had more power, and it was clear who the winner would be, deal or not. So he set the warehouse on fire.’

‘What?’

‘It was the safest option. As the only android present with full AI, I was the only one able to protect myself. Miu found me the next day, low on battery and badly damaged, while she was searching for parts. She repaired me and kept me.'

‘But you ended up with Danganronpa?’

‘I applied with Miu and ensured that we were accepted.’

‘Knowing that you could die?’

‘Miu needed money.’

Shuichi tries to imagine what sort of person Miu had been, before. He does not do the same for himself.

‘He is still in this body, isn't he? There are recent impression statistics in my system that I didn't enter. What are you doing to him?'

‘I’m not _doing_ anything. I'm just trying to keep him safe. My Kiibo doesn't remember anything past the second day of the game, and you're only making everything more complicated. Kiibo… isn't handling being outside of the game very well.’

‘Of course he isn't,’ he says. ‘He's supposed to be dead.’

‘Please don't say it like that.’

‘Is he functioning without audience input?’

‘Y-yeah. We don’t know how or why, but he seems himself, more or less.’

‘He doesn't _have_ a self, sir. Giving him a personality of his own with settings like these could have allowed him to dismiss commands. I doubt that more than ten to fifteen percent of him is his own. He is a tenth of a person.’

‘I… I know. I know that. But he's himself, as I knew him. Perhaps not completely, but a lot more than ten percent.’

‘It's not possible. Something else is guiding him. Something is speaking to him.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the abrupt ending, I'm kinda _(:'3/ )=.  
> There's a little more about pregame to come later, but not much about Iruma. Pregame Iruma's time with pregame Kiibo was originally its own oneshot, but it got too long and I wanted to start on this fic... Cramming it into this one chapter with so little detail felt very sad! I had quite a lot of it written, so I'm tempted to post what I had anyway, unfinished.  
> I like the chapter after this a lot.
> 
> ([Tumblr](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/)) ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/angstdroid))


	8. Chapter 8

The second half of the drive is much the same as the first. The silence doesn't bother Kiibo; he watches the world pass by and imagines what it must be like to live in it. Outside, fields become hills become fields again. He glimpses a building or two, far away. Sheer cliff walls tower over him, then vanish.

Then, the city. Kiibo had thought that Shuichi's home had been big enough, but the city is… something else. Something more. An insurmountable, untouchable monument to human life and human creation. Grey buildings under grey skies. A world where he is a faceless, unknown passenger in a sea of vehicles. The people on the streets are countless and impossible to track. He leans as close to the window as possible, eyes wide, trying to take it all in. As he watches the world, Shuichi watches him.

Although Kiibo knows that he was overtaken again, the events of the night before remain a mystery to him. He doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know. He trusts that Shuichi wouldn't keep anything important from him, even without the voice's prompting - and it gives none.

Maki and Himiko's home is beautiful in its singularity. A square-based, two-story hybrid of traditional and modern, rimmed by a veranda with a wooden paneled platform so high it must be climbed onto if not accessed via the steps. The likeness of a marshhouse is completed by the surrounding yard of grass tall enough to brush Kiibo's hips. The building is encompassed by tall stone walls, but they create no semblance of a cage. It’s another world, where even the sounds of the city can't reach them. The interior is unapologetically mismatched - an open living space clearly shared by two people with very different approaches to decoration and organisation. Even so, Kiibo can't imagine how he might have placed things better himself. He can't imagine it looking any other way at all.

Maki leaves again without explanation almost immediately after unlocking the door and calling for Himiko. Shuichi apparently feels comfortable enough to take a seat on the couch, but Kiibo chooses to stay standing, still not certain about the etiquette of being in another person's home. He's beginning to wonder whether it might be okay, after all, when Himiko appears at the bottom of the stairs, wearing pyjamas despite it being almost evening.

And Himiko is… not how he remembers her. Something has changed, visibly, though he can't say for certain what it is. What he remembers is limited, after all.

'Wow, you really woke up, huh,' she says, dropping down on the second couch. Her tone is bland, but her expression is warm. 'Nice job.'

'I… didn't do anything, but thank you,' he says, feeling Shuichi's eyes on him. ''It's nice to meet you,' he adds, automatically.

He winces.

'You, too,' she says, without missing a beat. 'Wanna play Mario Kart?'

He doesn't. He doesn't know what that is.

Himiko shrugs and sets it up anyway, motioning for him to sit down.

She seems to know what she's doing. Her little pink mushroom driver rounds the colourful tracks with ease, coming first each and every time. Kiibo wonders, at first, why Himiko is so invested in this driving simulation, but he soon stops worrying about it. Shuichi's glances become less and less frequent, and he retreats into checking his phone.

Maki can't be gone for more than an hour and a half, but it's dark by the time she gets back. Shuichi gets up to help her, unnecessarily, leaving Kiibo alone with Himiko.

'Are you okay?' she asks, as soon as Shuichi is out of earshot, not looking away from the screen.

'Yes,' he says automatically. 'Or, I… I'm getting there, probably.'

'You look pretty awful.'

Under other conditions, Kiibo might have been offended, but the honesty is strangely refreshing. 'I did die, after all,' he says. It sounds almost funny. 'Apparently. Were you there? At the time?'

'Yeah…'

'W-will you tell me what happened?'

Himiko glances over the back of the couch before answering, checking where Maki is.

'You sort of got… blown up,' she says. 'Or… you blew yourself up?'

'I self-destructed?'

'I guess.'

Kiibo almost asks her why, but catches himself - if Maki wouldn't willing to tell him, then the odds were that Himiko wouldn't either.

'I'm sorry you had to see that,' he says instead.

'It's whatever. Thanks to that, we got out. It did suck, but it’s not like we were close.’ Kiibo must be silent for a moment too long, because she continues, ‘Not because I didn’t like you or anything. We just never really hung out or anything. It’s just how it was.’

‘Who did I talk with, then?’ he asks, struck by sudden curiosity.

She pauses to think, still playing. ‘Dunno,’ she says finally. ‘Shuichi, I guess. Maybe Miu? I didn’t pay you that much attention, and it was a while ago now, so…’

'Kiibo,' Maki calls from the other side of the room. 'Would you mind staying with Himiko in her room tonight?'

'Um… sure.'

'We do have a room you can use, but I need to fix it up a little first.'

Kiibo looks to Shuichi.

'I'm gonna sleep down here on the couch,' he says. He doesn't seem overly happy about it. ‘You can come down if you need me.’

 

Himiko insists on actually bringing out the spare bed and setting it up for him, and he doesn't protest too much. In the end, Kiibo "goes to bed" before anyone else. He needs privacy.

This should be easy. It should be.

But it's difficult, and even more so with only one hand. He hooks his nails into the practically invisible line between lower torso panel and outer casing and pulls, his fingers quickly aching so badly that his whole arm shakes. It takes three attempts. On the third, the panel pulls off and lands with a thud at his knees.

He sits, his hand still trembling from the effort, (and the other uncomfortably limp and lifeless at his side,) suddenly short on breath he doesn't need. His torso burns with an imaginary pain. Although it's something he's seen dozens of times, unwillingly, he doesn't dare look down until the discomfort of having his internal mechanics exposed outweighs the fear of acknowledging that they are only exactly that; internal mechanisms, and nothing more.

He opens his eyes. His hand drifts up, over the space where his self-destruct system should be. Only empty space - an absence of weight that can't be explained by lack of plating, finally explained. Nausea takes hold of him the moment he sees, rather than feels, his own fingers touch the side of the cavity. Screwing his eyes closed, he reaches blindly for the panel and spends a good few minutes trying to fit it back into himself.

He pulls his shirt back down and looks back up, having almost forgotten that the mirror was there. As usual, the cracks and spaces that can't be hidden by clothes draw his eye. Suicide. He did this to himself. Surely with good reason, but… it hurts. It scares him. If it had come to that…

If it had reached that point, what else had happened? What was he missing, exactly? If he had really destroyed himself, then for whose sake? Who had mattered so much? Shuichi?

Not for the first time, he wonders how much Shuichi hasn't told him.

 _[Does it matter?]_ says his inner voice. _[You trust him. You owe him that much and more. If he wants to keep things from you, you must respect his decision.]_

It's the longest response he's received in days. The voice dulls his discomfort considerably. It dulls everything else, too, but it's a price worth paying.

Kiibo crawls back to his mattress and curls up under the blanket. Gripping his sides, he fights the urge to press his fingers into the biggest hole in his casing he can find and pull away piece by piece of himself.

The foreign weight of the blanket is suffocating until he stops breathing altogether. After a few minutes of mondering what humans could find so comfortable about this, he finds himself relaxing. It’s a strange sensation, to be tucked away. He’s never had much reason to lie down, and the single metal bench in his room at the lab wouldn’t have been comfortable if he had tried.

 **ENTERING IDLE MODE** , declares his system. He doesn’t bother stopping it.

 

Internal alarms drag him out of idle in the middle of the night - _Warning: Possible Threat Detected._

He sits stunned and disoriented in the dark, eyes wide, seeing nothing. Then, the threat - not so much “detected” as _heard_ . an almighty _crash_ , then, growing louder, a thudding, pounding sound.

He's up in seconds, finding his way to Himiko’s bed in the dark.

‘Himiko,’ he says. And louder, grasping her arm, ‘ _Himiko._ ’

She groans, shoves his hand away, and rolls over, pulling one of her pillows over her head.

After a few more attempts, he abandons the room, stepping out into the hallway.

The house is different in the dark. What little light comes in through the windows is warped and shuddering. _This is a dream_ , says some part of him - the human part, or - no. The part capable of dreaming.

Downstairs, the window rattles. Kiibo finds the shape of Shuichi on the couch, brings his hand down gingerly on the blanket and feels the warmth underneath with great relief.

‘Shuichi,’ he says. He can hardly hear himself.

Shuichi shifts, then pushes the blanket half off of himself, squinting in the shifting, trembling light. ‘What's wrong?’ he says dazedly.

The question stuns him enough that he doesn't know what to say. _“What’s wrong?” The world is ending. Can't you hear it?_

Alarmed by his silence, Shuichi sits up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He glances back over his shoulder, then, seeing nothing, places a hand on Kiibo's arm. ‘Kiibo?’

‘I - What’s…?’ he manages. ‘Everything's - It’s so loud - I -’ He’s almost tearing up, now, almost starting to wonder whether he's imagining it.

Shuichi looks at him blankly, then with dawning understanding. ‘The rain?’

‘What?’

‘It's a storm, Kiibo. It's raining outside.’

‘ _That's_ rain!?’

A flash of light from the other side of the glass doors behind him lights the room, making him jump. He claps his hand over his mouth, stifling a shout.

Shuichi wraps his arms around him. ‘It's just a storm,’ he says. ‘It's going to be fine.’

‘The roof - The roof will fall,’ he says, speaking into Shuichi’s chest. It really sounds like it might, even a floor down.

‘It won't,’ Shuichi says confidently. ‘It’s designed to survive this much and more. It's okay. You're safe.’

The sky crashes, again. He shakes.

‘Here, Keebs.’

Shuichi lets go of him to pull the blanket into a pile on his lap and motions for him to sit beside him. Kiibo scrambles onto the couch. Shuichi drapes the blanket over him, pulling him close. Kiibo's inner voice hums, just another noise amongst so many. Something inside of him hums, as well, until the two sounds, audible to only him, become one.

It takes him a while to calm down, each flash and bang only putting him back on edge. But Shuichi is calm, and warm, and Kiibo finds himself watching him rather than staring anxiously through the window. Shuichi is closer, now, than Kiibo has ever been to anyone in his life.

Another anxiety sets in. Another voice, without words. Another urge, to push Shuichi away, to apologise as best he can. His breathing shudders. He can feel it too acutely, now - Shuichi's arms around him, Shuichi's hands on his back, Shuichi's chin resting on his shoulder, Shuichi's heartbeat echoing in his own empty chest - or perhaps that is only his imagination.

Surely, Shuichi can feel him, too. The cracks. The metal. The plastic. The undeserving body. Surely, he is regretting this, now.

But… Shuichi's hand lifts, and moves up to his head, fingers threading soothingly through his hair, again and again. An unnecessarily intimate motion, and one that throws him off so badly that he tenses.

Shuichi stops, ‘Is that okay?’ he asks.

Kiibo nods without thinking. Shuichi takes a few seconds to read his expression before continuing with slow and careful movements, just as numbing as his inner voice. Kiibo can’t imagine what he sees..

'It's getting softer,' Shuichi says. 'Are you going to be okay?'

'Well…'

'Or you could stay here, if you want,' Shuichi says. 'I'm, uh, probably going to fall back to sleep any minute now, so I won't be much reassurance, but -'

'I'd like to,' Kiibo says, almost surprising himself. 'If - If that's okay. I'll try not to wake you up again.'

'I won't mind if you do.' Kiibo catches his tired smile in another flash - fainter, now, unaccompanied by sound. He doesn't flinch, this time.

Shuichi waits longer than Kiibo imagines he would otherwise like to, eventually moving to lie down with Kiibo between him and the couch. It’s difficult for Kiibo to tell when Shuichi actually falls asleep, but his breathing evens out within minutes.

Kiibo doesn’t idle, this time. He only listens to the rain fading into silence, and to Shuichi’s steady breaths, trying to match them himself. He only focuses on Shuichi’s arm wrapped around his waist, and his heartbeat, almost audible if he really, really tries. This is closer than Kiibo has ever been to any human being.

 _[You love him,]_ says his inner voice.

'I love you,' he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It got longer in the edit, but I enjoyed writing this shorter chapter. Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before reading, please have a look at [this gorgeous art](https://deeprazzle.tumblr.com/post/186530770060/blank-spaces)!  
> Okay!!!

The rain still hasn't cleared out by morning. "At least we got here before it hit," Maki says, looking through the glass doors, and Shuichi agrees. Kiibo mightn’t have been so easy to calm, in such small a space as a car.

Maki has decided that Shuichi's contact must be called, and Shuichi agrees, again. It’s been put off for far too long. As much as he would rather keep outside forces out of this - and especially any outside forces affiliated with Team Danganronpa - the fact remains that his contact is the only person who may know more than they do.

It doesn’t make him any more comfortable, knowing that, sitting with Maki at her dining table as the phone threatens to ring out without answer in his ear. He’s never actually spoken to his contact beyond deliberately brief and formal questions over text on his part and overly casual replies and parts in the mail on hers. The prospect of actually speaking to someone he’s gone out of his way to avoid for so long is daunting.

The phone clicks on the ninth ring.

'Hello?'

Her voice is just as relaxed as her messaging style, though perhaps deeper than he might have expected.

'It's Saihara Shuichi,’ he says, though he assumes his name must have shown on her phone display.

'Uh-huh…' In the background, Shuichi hears the faint rattle of a roller chair's wheels.

'I'm calling about Kiibo.'

'Yeah? What's the problem?'

Shuichi glances at Maki. She nods. He clears his throat.

'There's... a problem with my copy of Kiibo’s data.'

'He's working, then?'

Shuichi hesitates.

'Just kidding,' she says. 'I knew that much.'

'Does that mean you're tracking him?'

'Relax, I'm not pulling anything. I’m not interested in you. I got an alert when he came online, is all. Okay, a data problem? I think I know what you're talking about.'

'You do?'

'He’s missing some things, yeah? I'd've thought you'd be happy about that.'

'Is it your doing?'

She sighs. The sound grates through the speaker. 'I didn't change anything. I gave you what I had. That's it.'

'That's it?'

'You're lucky you got anything at all. I wasn't supposed to copy that data in the first place.'

'Wait, you really don't have the rest?'

'Look, Kiibo is a complex profile running off a complex program. His data can save automatically, but backing it up elsewhere is more difficult. If it was attempted while he was running, it would risk serious issues. Instead, the system waits until he shuts down before attempting to back up anything new over wifi to an assigned location. We needed Kiibo running at all times, so that wasn't an option. We knew that his saved data would be lost if he died, but all we really needed was the visuals and audio he was already streaming straight to us, so it wasn't a problem until you decided to rebuild him.'

'But Kiibo can still remember some things. The first two days.'

'Yeah. Kaede accidentally shut him down early on; nearly gave us a heart attack. It was lucky she got him back online so quickly. But it meant that the first thirty hours or so got backed up. We didn't need it, but I made a copy for myself anyway.'

'Kaede did?'

'Anyway, I just gave you everything I had.'

Shuichi hesitates. 'Would that include data from before the game?'

It's several seconds before Shuichi hears anything on the other end of the line, and even then, it's only the sound of a mouse clicking.

‘Hello?’

'Uh… Yeah, I gotta admit I hadn't considered that. Why do you ask?'

'Kiibo has been… overtaken by his former self twice. It's been a nightmare for both of us.'

'Wow! I mean, yeah, sorry about that. A domestic like Kiibo can only save up to three separate profiles, unless you pay for an upgrade. If you’ve already set one up and marked it as complete, it’s practically impossible to wipe it. Only the registered owner can delete data, and even then it’s difficult, apparently. That seemed like a hassle, and Kiibo still had two blank profiles, so we just used one of those and set it as the default. But there wasn’t any plan for Kiibo to need to function outside of the set, so we only gave him what he needed. I guess the system thinks his profile is incomplete and doesn’t understand why it’s been set as the default, and tries to switch back to the older profile. As long as that exists, there’s not much that can be done.’'

'So I can't do anything about either of these problems?'

It's silent for a long time. 'Haven't you talked to him? The original?'

'Of course I have.'

'Well, like I said, it's not easy to delete a profile. I don't actually know how you do it. You'd have to ask him yourself.'

'You just told me only his… the person who bought him could even attempt it.'

She's slow to respond, again. Shuichi starts to wonder whether he's misunderstood.

'Well, I mean… that's you, right?'

'…Excuse me?'

'Oh… Maybe I shouldn't have said anything? Uh… But as for his data from the game, it can't be recovered. I'll see if there's anything I can do, but there's no chance of getting that original data back.'

 

He finds Kiibo on the porch, the shredded wires of his inner arm exposed, a wire cutter in his hand and pliers in his lap.

'Where did you get those?' Shuichi asks. His chest tightens as he sees Kiibo tense at his voice.  _ The original, then. _

Kiibo neither replies nor moves, but his eyes follow Shuichi as he sits down next to him, leaving a comfortable space - much too large.

'I asked a red-haired girl,' he says, returning to his work.

‘Himiko?’ Shuichi glances nervously back into the house.

‘She didn’t seem bothered by it.’

‘Uh… that’s… good.’ It’s reassuring, on the one hand, to know that there’s not much likelihood of hostility towards anyone other than him, but Shuichi can’t help but feel a little hurt. ‘What are you doing, exactly?’

'These wires can be reused if you cut, tighten, and reconnect them,’ Kiibo says calmly. ‘It's not perfect, but it can last until replacements are available. I learned from watching Miu.'

She would know better than Shuichi would, at least. Watching Kiibo cut pieces out of his own body still scares him.

'Doesn't that hurt?' he asks.

Kiibo's glare is scathing, and, in Shuichi's opinion, completely unnecessary. 'No.'

'Okay, good,' Shuichi says, confused.

Kiibo scrutinises the few wood panels between them for a moment before returning to his work, apparently deeming the space acceptable.

'It would be nice if humans could do that so easily,' Shuichi says. 'Fix themselves, I mean.'

‘This much isn’t worth what you would lose.’

He looks… so tired.

‘Are you unhappy, Kiibo? Would you rather you were something else?’

‘I don’t have any need for unhappiness. But if I wasn’t like this, I couldn’t have met Miu as I did. I couldn’t imagine a better life than to be by her side.’

‘What if you could be by her side as a human?’

Kiibo sighs. He bites his lip.

‘As I said, sir,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t imagine it.’

‘Kiibo…’

‘I don’t need to consider any other form of existence. Humanity is above my kind. You have no need for mimics. My similarities might be convenient for espionage, but beyond that, pretending to be more than I am would be only a humiliation and an insult.’

'I think my Kiibo feels the same,' Shuichi tells him, ‘but he'd never admit it. I think you're wrong, though. There's no difference between us.'

'He is manmade. Every part of him.'

'So am I.'

Kiibo’s hand stops halfway through cutting a wire, just for a second.

'But I was talking about you, too, you know? I'm sure there are differences that you're aware of, but when it comes down to it, I think you're just young. You got launched into the life of a developing person without having the chance to learn and grow to that stage. If you had more time, I think you would find the differences starting to fade.'

Kiibo is slow to reply. 'I don't have that time,' he says quietly, with enough finality that Shuichi feels it might almost be rude to ask what that means.

Shuichi knows that he has to bring it up, but he lets minutes pass, looking down into the dew-soaked grass brushing the soles of his shoes. The only sounds are the muffled rumble of cars beyond the outer walls and the occasional  _ snip _ of Kiibo’s scissors.

He takes a deep breath.

'I was your owner, before, wasn't I?'

Kiibo's fingers slip. The wires spark.

'I- I heard from someone from Team Danganronpa,' Shuichi says quickly. Kiibo doesn’t move, no even breathing. 'She said that I would be able to delete your profile, under certain circumstances, because I was your owner.'

Kiibo remains motionless. 'That may be true,' he says, slowly and carefully, each word even more over-enunciated than usual, '…sir.'

'Which… would mean that I was the one who returned you so quickly, as well. Why would I do something like that?'

'I wasn't… to your liking.'

'But…'

'Do you even know who you were?' Kiibo asks, too loud. 'If that person is gone, then it doesn't matter.'

'It  _ does _ matter,' Shuichi insists. He finds that he can’t quite speak the reason why. 'What did I do?'

Shuichi almost wonders whether it isn't worth knowing, seeing Kiibo failing to hide his hurt and frustration. His stiff posture has yielded at last, leaving him looking a lot more like the Kiibo he knows.

'You didn't want a domestic in the first place,' he says, his volume dropping again, before Shuichi can say  _ "never mind" _ . 'Maybe you would have been able to afford one, if you had tried, but you had other things to throw money at. Strange dolls and big pieces of paper and little plastic things. But I… suppose that it did appeal to you; the idea of a thing that could look and act how you wanted it to look and that you could treat how you wanted to treat it. So you entered, and won, and got a custom. From what I know now, it's clear who you wanted, but at least you were reasonable enough to make some changes. You seemed happy with what you got, design-wise. But I wasn't what you imagined. I wasn't… fun. I was good at what I did, and I did it without complaint. You valued reaction and hatred, and I couldn't react, because I didn't need to, and I couldn't hate you, because I had been created for you.'

He stops for a moment, kicks his feet, then goes back to twisting wires.

'I watched you lose interest in minutes,' he says, almost casually. With his head turned, his voice is muffled. 'You opened me up. Pulled me apart. Tried to make it hurt. It did hurt. But there's no need for a domestic to be able to express pain, even if they choose to feel it, and the expression was the important part. To your credit, you didn't do too much serious damage, but there are still a few issues, even now. Most notably, I lost much of my hearing on my left side, and some realism of speech. Afterwards, they took my voice from me completely, so it didn't matter. But I bored you. You left me in a spare room and told me not to move, so… I didn't. I waited. My battery can last up to ten days with general use, but when not being used at all…’ He pauses. ‘It was a month, I think. I spent that time studying; trying to understand what it was that you wanted, what it was that you loved so much. At two percent, I was able to override your command to inform you that I needed to charge. You weren't in the house. I couldn’t find you. When I came to, I had already been returned. I wonder whether you had forgotten me, in that time. They must have neglected to remove your status as my owner, not expecting us to ever meet again.'

'Kiibo, I -'

'But I did meet you again,' he says. 'While I was on assignment, and again after I had become Miu's, after my offer had been accepted, but while things were still being decided. It was different, then. I was what you wanted, despite everything, and you didn't care that I wasn't yours anymore. You wouldn't leave me alone.'

'…I'm so sorry.'

'Okay.'

'I'm not like that, now. You know that, right? I'm better.'

Kiibo cuts a wire.

'I understand that I hurt you, in the past, and I'm sorry, really. I understand why you’re worried now. But that person you knew is gone, and I'm nothing like him.'

'Could you tell me the time and date?'

'What?'

'This system rebooted from an old save,' Kiibo says calmly. 'It says that it's four a.m., at the moment, which is clearly not true.'

'I… my phone is inside. I don't know the time. Listen, there's no danger of anything like what happened to you happening to Kiibo. I won't lose interest. If I was going to do that, I wouldn't have fixed him in the first place. God knows that took long enough that if I was going to change my mind, I would have already. I'm not going to get rid of him.'

'I didn't say you were.'

'Then, what? You want me to leave him alone? I do understand, really, but I can't do that. Kiibo is fragile right now. He can't look after himself. He doesn't know this world. He doesn't know anyone other than me. If I left him - even if I left him with Maki…'

'I didn't say anything.'

'I love him. I'm keeping him safe. Without me, he... Kiibo doesn't even remember anything.'

Kiibo sighs, long and quiet.

'How convenient,' he says.

Shuichi’s throat goes dry. ‘Excuse me?’

'I'm very sorry, sir.' Kiibo lays the clicks the panel back into place. 'Perhaps you believe what you're saying, but I can see you more clearly. Your obsession hasn't faded, only shifted.'

'Kiibo…'

'You want to know how to get rid of me.' It’s not a question.

'…If there's another option, I'm more than happy to hear it.'

‘No. This isn’t up to you, and I’ve already made my decision.’ Kiibo raises his arm. He flexes his fingers; rock, paper, rock. The motion hitches minutely, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t show it. ‘You’re incredibly lucky. Things really couldn’t have lined up better. I wasn’t intended to be a long term experiment, and so you retained your privileges and I retained my safeguard, despite the need for them having been lifted.'

Kiibo places his tools down neatly and stands, brushing cut wires from his lap.

'A domestic is programmed to be unable to harm or otherwise pose a threat to its owner, as you would expect,’ he says. ‘Therefore, if this occurs, the system will consider the profile to be either damaged or rogue, and will flag the deletion protocol. At this point, the owner would be able to initiate deletion immediately. The system will allow two more strikes without action from the owner. On the third strike, a countdown will be set for deletion in three hours, unless the owner chooses to abort it. Now, my system has already been flagged twice.’

He takes a plant pot from beside the window and weighs it in his hand. Shuichi knows, almost, what he needs it for.

'So,’ Kiibo says, raising the pot above his head. ‘I have three hours to get as far away from you as possible.'

Shuichi doesn’t quite feel the rest, but he hears it. Two blows to the skull - the pot and the wooden floor, and the shattering of ceramic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ([Tumblr](https://anviexe.tumblr.com/)) ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/angstdroid))


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